Cruel Summer
by Flagg1991
Summary: Sequel to Country Bumpkins, Nikki's mom enrolls her in summer camp and she suggests Lincoln go too so they can spend time together. Their attempts to be alone are thwarted by meddling camp councilors and their relationship is threatened by a jealous bully who plans to steal Nikki from Lincoln at any cost.
1. Sleepaway Camp

Lincoln Loud was kind of a sissy. Well, maybe "sissy" wasn't the right word; a lot of other boys his age liked playing sports, roughhousing, and being filthy, but he preferred nice, quiet indoor activities, like video games. He wasn't OCD, but he didn't like getting dirty, and if his clothes got covered in dirt, dust, or grime, he made a B-line for home. Going to summer camp, therefore, was the very last thing Lincoln ever thought he'd do, but here he was anyway, packed with thirty other kids into an old school bus painted white and topped by a roof rack overflowing with bags, suitcases, and boxes. The bus swayed and creaked, the engine coughed and sputtered, and even with every single window open, the heat was unbearable.

He was shoved against the window with his knees pressed tightly together and his hands resting in his lap, the kid next to him, a boy named Thad, so fat he took up all but a tiny sliver of the seat. Lincoln breathed through his mouth because the boy's armpits threw off a powerful, nostril pinching odor, and if he took too deep a breath, he could taste it on his tongue. Like onions.

Shiver.

The heat combined with being crammed like a sardine into a can conspired to give him a headache, but worse was the singing. A female counselor with curly black hair and a big, creepy smile stood at the front of the bus with an acoustic guitar slung around one shoulder and lead the campers in a butchered rendition of all your least favorite hits. She wore white shorts and a light blue shirt with CAMP ROLLING HILLS across the chest; her name was Angela, and she was one of those annoyingly perky people who bounce through life on an endless happy high. She was making her way through her fifth encore of _99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall_, and all the off-key shouting was beginning to turn Lincoln's headache into a full blown migraine.

Drawing a deep, stagnant breath that hardly filled his lungs, Lincoln gazed out the grimy window. The bus was presently lumbering down a zigzagging two lane highway fifteen miles from nowhere. Weak afternoon sunlight filtered through tall pine trees crowding the blacktop. They'd been en route for what felt like hours, and Lincoln's stomach was starting to churn with heat-and-headache induced nausea.

A very large part of him already regretted coming, but there was one upside to the next two weeks.

Nikki.

In May, Ronnie Anne, Bobby, and Nikki came to visit Royal Woods and Lincoln and Nikki _kind _of got together...in more ways than one. They planned to see each other as often as they could over the summer, but things never quite worked out; each time they set a date, something would happen to keep them apart. In June, Nikki fell off her skateboard and sprained her ankle the day before she was supposed to take the bus to Royal Woods, and in early July, two days before Lincoln was set to take a commuter train into the city, Pop-Pop died; he flipped his 'Vette going eighty miles down Route 10 to impress his eighteen-year-old girlfriend and wound up compressing her instead...because the engine crushed her to death.

Last week, Nikki called him with a suggestion. "Hey, snow boy, my mom enrolled me in some gay ass summer camp thing, and I thinking: Why don't you go too? That way we hang." She put a lurid little lift on the word _hang_ that made Lincoln's dick stir in its sleep.

"Okay!"

It wasn't until later that he really meditated on all the crap that goes into summer camp - like bunking with a bunch of guys you don't know, sunburn, poison ivy, dumb arts and even dumber crafts, more sunburn, Jason Voorhees, and, uh...that's all he could think of. Literally the only knowledge he had on the topic came from horror movies he watched with Lucy, so his expectations involved lots of sex, drugs, and being brutally murdered by a guy in a hockey mask. Seeing Nikki would be worth it, though. Not only did he really like spending time with her, he really liked "spending time with her."

As in alone.

With no clothes on.

Ever since their first (and as yet only) time in the forest, Lincoln couldn't stop thinking about the way her body looked and felt; her shapely hips, firm little butt, budding breasts, the wet heat between her legs...it was enough to drive him crazy. They made a pact over the phone to not play with themselves before meeting up again, and two plus months later, he was so backed up one wrong move would set him off.

His only regret was not doing more with her when he had the chance. He spent the past sixty days wishing he sucked her tit, ate her pussy, kissed her entire body from the bottoms of her feet to the crown of her forehead. Just as soon as they were by themselves, he planned to glut himself on her until he was so stuffed he'd have to unbutton his jeans just for a little relief.

The bus jostled as it ran over a skunk, and his dick twitched. He pressed his legs even tighter together and covered his crotch with his hands. Like all the other campers, he wore a blue CAMP ROLLING HILLS T and thin white shorts that stopped halfway to the knee. To quote this song he heard on YouTube once, it's kind of hard to hide a raging hard-on when you're dressed like Minnie Pearl.

Something struck him in the back of the head and landed in his lap. A balled up piece of paper. He twisted in his seat, and at the very back, Chandler smirked challengingly. A tall boy with reddish brown hair, dark eyes, and high, arrogant cheekbones, Chandler was the biggest bully in Royal Woods; he made fun of people, stole their lunch money, and beat them up just for fun. He sat between his cronies Poppa Wheelie and Ricky E, the latter a tall, thin Hispanic kid with swarthy features and a sneering grimace that invited you to try and wipe it off. When Lincoln got on the bus and saw them, his shoulders slumped and his opinion of camp went from "stupid" to "gay" in 0.1 seconds flat.

He really hoped he didn't have to share a cabin with him.

At the front, Angela reached the end of her song, and strummed the guitar strings with a flourish that would make Luna proud. "Alright, campers," she cried in that upbeat voice of hers, "this next song is very close to my heart. As you _miiiiight_ have noticed, I love camp." Here her voice welled with emotion and she blinked as if against tears. Lincoln rolled his eyes and shook his head; God, what a dork. "Camp is a special, magical place where good memories are made and lasting friendships forged. There's no place on earth like camp, and I envy each one of you experiencing it for the first time." She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm. "I'll sing it first, then we'll all sing it together, okay?"

A muted mumble went through the bus.

Plucking the strings, Angela began to sing, and Lincoln winced.

"_Oh, I'm a Happy Camper,_

_I love the summer sun,_

_I love the trees and forest,_

_I'm always having fun._

_Oh I'm a Happy Camper,_

_I love the clear blue sky,_

_And with the Grace of God,_

_I'll camp until I die."_

She flashed a big cheesy smile and looked around expectantly, reminding Lincoln of Spongebob when he made a friendship sweater for Squidward out of his pubic hair. _Do you looooooove it? _"Now everyone!"

Again, she strummed the guitar, and everyone began to sing except for Lincoln. He knew there would be lame songs, but he assumed those were safely confined to nighttime gathers around the bonfire.

Angela looked around, and when her eyes settled on him, her smile fell. She stopped playing and held up her fist like a soldier calling for his platoon to be quiet. The singing tapered off, and she walked over. She was a short woman and weighed barely more than Lincoln himself, but there was a hard glint in her eyes that made him uncomfortable. "Why aren't you singing, little boy?" she asked.

Ugh, because this song sucks. "I just don't feel like it," Lincoln mumbled to his lap.

"Why ever not?"

"I just don't like -" he looked up and the words died on his lips. Shadows nestled in Angela's features and her eyes burned like two coals.

She leaned over, and Thad cringed. Lincoln's blood ran cold, and he learned just what a cornered animal really feels like. "Sing the damn song," Angela hissed, "or I'll send you home."

Lincoln gulped, and Angela stood up straight, her face beaming and sunny once more. "'Kay?" she chirped.

All Lincoln could do was nod.

Angela resumed her spot at the front of the bus, and this time Lincoln sang every single word with hearty gusto.

Ten minutes later, the bus turned off the highway and followed a rutted dirt road through a stand of forest. The frame violently jostled as the tires dipped into potholes, and a few girls squealed in alarm. After a mile, the road filtered out into a wide, dusty clearing on the shore muddy shore of a still and tranquil lake. Tumbledown cabins were arranged in a semi-circle around a patch of dirt, and another, longer building, presumably the cafeteria, stood off to one side by itself like a school yard outcast. A long pier jutted out into the water and a line of overturned canoes waited on the bank for someone to come along and use them.

A half dozen buses were parked off to the left, and a massive gathering of kids, some as young as ten and others as old as seventeen and all dressed in shorts and T-shirts, crowded the commons between cabins. Lincoln sat forward and scanned the mass for Nikki, but didn't see her.

The bus pulled to a stop and the folding doors fell open. "Alright, campers," Angela said and bounded off, "follow me to fun!"

Lincoln waited for everyone to get up and file past before slipping out of the seat and following; his back was sore, his butt itched, and his knees hurt from sitting so long, but he was amped to see Nikki. Outside, the hot, humid air wrapped itself around him like a sodden towel, and the pounding rays of the inferno sun bathed his exposed skin like acid. Angela, giddily grinning like a small girl, herded them into the commons, and Lincoln looked around for Nikki again. He saw boys and girls, short, fat, skinny, tall, pretty, and ugly, but no Nikki.

At the head of the pack, four camp counselors - two men and two women - scanned clipboards and conferred like witches at a black mass. Someone bumped into Lincoln, shoving him forward, and he looked back to find Chandler flanked by his buddies, his hands on his hips and his forearms far more muscular and toned than they ought to be for a boy his age. Lincoln's heart skipped a beat and he swallowed thickly. He hated giving the devil his due, but he, Lincoln, was weak, and Chandler was strong; there was nothing he could do but keep his head down and pray to God the older boy moved onto the next victim quickly. "Hey, Loud," Chandler said in that slow, sleepy way of his, "ready for camp?"

Please, go away. "Uh, yeah," Lincoln said, "I'm...I'm really looking forward to it."

Chandler tilted forward, and Lincoln instinctively shrank back. Grinning evilly, eyes blazing much as Angela's had, the older boy said, "So am I."

Ominously.

Lincoln gulped, and Chandler issued a sharp, hissing laugh. His toadies leered like a couple of junkyard dogs held back only by their master's whim, and Lincoln got the distinct impression that if Chandler told them to, they'd rip him to pieces _with pleasure. _

"Now if you'll excuse me," Chandler said, "there's cute little redhead over there who needs her butt pinched."

He and his crew took their leave, and Lincoln let out a pent up breath. From the wicked light in Chandler's eyes, Lincoln knew one thing, and he knew it well: Chandler was going to make his time at Camp Rolling Hills a nightmare.

Great. Just another reason he shouldn't have come.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and he whipped around, heart in throat. Nikki, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, drew back. Her hair, like a golden spill of sunshine, covered half of her face, and her one visible eye, crystal blue, sparkled merrily. Her pink lips turned up at the corners in a delighted grin that was somehow both mischievous and innocent at the same time. "Damn, you're jumpy."

Lincoln relaxed. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied. She bent over and they hugged, the feeling of her in his arms right and good after so long apart. Feeling brave, he grabbed her butt and squeezed, making her jump. "Didja miss me, Snow White?" she laughed.

"Yes," Lincoln said honestly.

Feeling even braver, he brushed his lips over the side of her neck, and she giggled. "I missed you too." She stood up straight and brushed her fingers nervously through her hair. The cottony fabric of her slightly too small T-shirt clung to the swell of her tiny breasts and the hem rode up her taut stomach, bearing her navel, her hips, and the faint abdominal V pointing down to her sex like a flashing neon arrow. _Come and get it, Linc-o~_

Her breasts looked a little bigger than last time, and Lincoln's hand ached to cup and knead them. He went back to how soft and warm them were, how they quivered against his palms with the crazy beat of her heart, and his dick threatened to stiffen.

"So, uh, this is camp," she said and looked around. She nodded resignedly to herself. "Looks pretty dope." She brightened. "Yo, I saw Bigfoot on the way up."

Lincoln fondly rolled his eyes. Nikki loved messing around. She was kind of like Luan, if Luan wasn't a sociopath who enjoyed sicking raccoons on people. When he first met her, he found it tedious, but she eventually won him over, and now he loved it.

No, really, he loved her playful nature just as much as he loved her body. Nikki was genuinely fun to be around, even if her constant kidding got him banned from Gus's and almost resulted in them being whacked by a mobster.

"I doubt that," he said, "it was probably just a really hairy hitchhiker."

"Nah, man, he was Bigfoot. He told me."

Lincoln lifted an inquisitive brow. "How'd he tell you?"

She shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "He just told me. Said _Yo, I'm Bigfoot, what's good?"_

Nikki was so, so much more than her, ahem, assets, but Lincoln couldn't help staring at the hypnotic slope of her hips, defined just enough to hint at her biological purpose and begging to be held. His face flushed and he looked down at his feet in an attempt to keep from getting hard.

God, he couldn't wait to get her alone.

Should he grab her hips? He wanted to, badly.

Throwing caution to the wind, he took her hips in his hands and pulled her body flush to his. Because she was so tall, his eyes came level with her breasts, and he was perfectly fine with that. She laid her arms on his shoulders and crossed her wrists in an X, caging him. Her skin was warmer than her remembered, silkier, and her smell, clean and light like summer rain, tantalized his senses. They stared into each other's eyes, and then leaned into each other.

Before their lips could touch, however, an arm thrust between them, and they pulled apart, each with a cry of alarm. "That is _not _appropriate for camp," Angela scolded. Her lips were a tight, white slash and her forehead crinkled severely. "This is a _wholesome _place, and I'd like to keep it that way."

She jabbed an admonishing finger at Lincoln, then Nikki. "Uh, yeah, sure," Nikki said and sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck. "Sorry."

Angelea made a V with her fingers, touched her eyes, then pointed at Lincoln and Nikki. "I'm watching you," she said, "and if I see _anything _dirty, I will send the both of you home."

"We won't do anything dirty," Nikki said, "I promise, we're just friends."

The woman lingered for a moment, then went off to bug someone else, and Nikki looked after her. "Wow," she said, "doing it's not gonna be easy with her around."

Doing it?

Booooooooing.

"Yeah," he coughed, "I guess not."

"Whatever," Nikki said and lidded her eyes, "that just adds to the excitement."

Lincoln didn't _need _anymore excitement; his nuts were so heavy with it they knocked together like two bowling balls when walked.

Momentarily, one of the councilors, a muscular man with blonde hair who reminded Lincoln of Joey from _Full House, _called for everyone's attention. The chatter died and the assemblage went gradually silent. "Alright, campers, I'm Kevin, the head counselor here at Camp Rolling Hills." He paused as if expecting a thunderous round of applause. Angela, standing next to him, clapped her hands and bounced excitedly up and down. Kevin ducked his head and held up as his as if to silence the non-existent adoration. "The next two weeks are going to be, I think, our best ever. We have lots of fun stuff planned including a special…" he trailed. "I shouldn't say." He clapped his hands together and rustled them crisply, "Anyway, first thing's first, cabins."

There were four cabins at Camp Rolling Hills, not including the consculor's cabin and the mess hall, two for boys and two for girls. As luck would have it, Lincoln was assigned to Cabin 3A while Chandler and his butt buddies were packed off to 3B. Inside, the floor planks were coated in dust, the wooden walls scuffed and scarred by years and the elements, and the furniture was falling apart. Two rows of simple wooden bunk beds, five apiece, faced each other across the room, each attended by a rickety dresser. A big green throw rug sat in the middle, and in a little alcove, a card table and an old, threadbare couch comprised the dayroom. There was a bigger, supposedly better equipped one off the dining hall, but Lincoln had yet to see it.

There were eight other boys in the cabin besides Lincoln, including Thad, the fat kid from the bus. Lincoln was hoping for a bed to himself, but of course, that didn't happen. He claimed one as far away from the door as possible, sat on the bottom mattress, and started unpacking his bag. A boy with messy black hair and glasses came over, and after a moment's contemplation, climbed the ladder and sat on the top bunk. Dude, there are other bunks open, do you really have to come over here? Wanna use the urinal next to mine as well?

Every cabin was assigned a counselor; 3A's was Kevin himself. After everyone had unpacked, he lead them to the dining hall, which was just as Spartan and rustic as everything else: Timber walls, wood floors, and rafters where cobwebs danced in unfeelable breezes. A dozen long tables dominated the dining room, and by the time Lincoln got his tray, the building had begun to fill as other cabins came in. He took a seat by the door with some of the guys from his cabin and critically examined his food. Beef patty slathered in gravy, watery mashed potatoes, sickly green beans, and a hard, possibly stale dinner roll.

Scrum-diddily-umptious.

"I hope this is Kosher," his bunkmate whined from across the table, Thin and pale, his name was Sherman and he put Lincoln in mind of every movie geek he'd ever seen. His black glasses, taped in the middle, slid down his hooked nose, and he pushed them back up with his finger.

Thad, sitting next to him, looked at his tray. "If it's not, can I have it?"

Sherman dug in his pocket, pulled out an inhaler, and took a hit.

"It's probably possum," another kid, this one named Rachaud said from down the table. He was thin and mixed with bushy black hair. He reminded Lincoln of someone, but he couldn't place it, and it danced mockingly on the tip of his tongue. "I hear they cook raccoons and stuff to keep food costs down."

Lincoln prodded the meat with his fork and sneered. "I believe it." He was really hungry, though.

He was cutting it in half when Nikki dropped into the seat next to him. "Man, this food looks good," she said. She stabbed her patty with her fork, brought it to her mouth, and tore off a huge bite; gravy dribbled down her chin and dropped onto the front of her shirt like drops of blood. Sherman watched in horror, and slyly licking his lips, Thad stole his bread.

"How does it taste?" Lincoln asked cautiously.

Nikki thought for a minute. "I dunno, like food?" She took a bite of her mashed potatoes. "How's your cabin? Is it cool? Mine sucks. It's haunted and everything."

"Yeah?" Lincoln asked, playing along, "by what?"

She opened her mouth, but a familiar high pitched voice cut her off. "Nicole, why are you sitting with the boys?" Angela asked. She crossed her arms and stared down at the back of Nikki's head like that guy from the old show _(Lucy...you have some 'splaining to do!)_. Nikk froze, then hurriedly chewed and swallowed.

"It's not against the rules, is it?"

Before coming over here, Kevin read a list of rules, then posted them to a corkboard in the cabin dayroom. Boys and girls weren't allowed to go in the other's cabins or be alone together, but he didn't say anything about them not being able to sit next to each other in the dining room.

"Given what I caught you two doing earlier," Angela said tightly, "it is."

Nikki threw her head back and let out a deep sigh.

"Don't give me that, young lady," Angela said and pointed, "go sit with the girls. I have super awesome camp stories to tell you guys. Trust me, you're gonna _love _it." She laughed and waved her hand.

Hanging her head, Nikki got up and grabbed her tray. She darted her eyes to Lincoln and winked.

He winked back.

When she was gone, Lincoln sighed. This Angela woman was going to do everything she could to keep him and Nikki apart; that would make things a little harder, but by no means impossible. Where there's a will, there's a way.

Dipping his fork into his mashed potatoes, he realized that the other guys were gaping at him, and a hot blush spread across the back of his neck.

"You have a girlfriend?" Sherman asked in a tone of breathless wonder.

"Dude, what's it like?" Thad asked.

"You guys kiss yet?" Rachaud put in.

Lincoln chafed. "Uh, yeah, we kissed."

_And a lot more, _he thought but didn't add.

"Whoa," Rachaud marveled, "that's awesome."

"Did you use tongue?" Thad asked.

"Yeah, we used tongue."

The three boys stared at him, then erupted in congratulations, and for the first time in his life, Lincoln Loud felt _cool_.

Across the room, Chandler plucked Poppa Wheelie's roll off his tray without asking and took a crunchy bite; Poppa did not challenge him, but accepted it as his lot in life, the way a grunt accepts his general's orders. Chandler was used to getting what he wanted in life - his parents had money and spoiled him, his friends recognized his innate superiority, and none of the girls he groped and kissed had ever said no. In every human relationship, his father once told him, there is a dominant party and a submissive party, and Chandler made sure that he was always the former and never the latter. To be submissive was to be weak, and he was anything but weak. Others asked, Chandler took, and right now, Chandler wanted one thing.

Lincoln Loud's girlfriend.

He was not attracted to the tall blonde...in fact, he found her height and scrawny frame thoroughly unappealing. He wanted her simply because Loud had her, and something about Loud pissed him off to no end. Maybe it was the white hair or the chipped teeth, but just looking at the little faggot made him mad. Stealing his girlfriend and breaking his heart would be so much more satisfying than bullying him. Amateurs leave bruises and broken bones, but it takes a true master to inflict emotional and psychological wounds, and Chandler considered himself a true master.

Plus, getting a girl away from her boyfriend is more of a challenge than getting a single girl. Not much of one when you're Chandler McCann, but enough that it would make a nice two or three day game.

"I'm gonna take Loud's girlfriend away," he said, and smiled to himself.

"The really tall chick?" Ricky asked.

Chandler nodded. "Umhm." He tossed the roll over his shoulder and crossed his arms. "I might even fuck her...and make Loud watch."

He laughed, and Ricky and Poppa Wheelie both chuckled nervously.

Kevin was right, the next two weeks _were _going to be the best ever.


	2. Tip A Canoe and Poison Sumac Too

Nikki Burroughs's first full day at Camp Rolling Hills began at 6am, when the overhead light snapped on and filled her murky mind with illumination. "Good morning, campers!" Angela cried, and a chorus of moans followed. "Oh, don't be like that, we have a fun-tastic day ahead of us."

Pressing her hand to her forehead, Nikki sat up and swayed back and forth in her bunk. Through the window across the room, weak early morning light drenched the oak tree overhanging the building, and a symphony of birdsong drifted through the screen. Angela stood by the door with her guitar slung across her chest and a big, chipper smile plastered to her narrow face. She straight looked like one of the crazy hobos who hung out in the park across from Nikki's project, only more irritating. Last night, instead of screwing off back to her own cabin like the other councillors, she slapped a sleeping bag in the middle of the floor and played her guitar well into the night. "I don't know about you guys," she said at one point, "but I'm too dang excited to sleep."

"Come on, girls," Angela called and ripped a chord on her guitar, "up and at 'em."

Slowly, everyone got out of bed and ponderously dressed. There were ten other girls in the cabin besides Nikki. She couldn't remember all their names, but most of them seemed pretty cool, especially her bunkmate, Kristy. A tall, thin girl of sixteen with black hair and green eyes, she was from Detroit too and apparently went to the same school as Nikki, even though she couldn't recall ever seeing her.

Yep, everyone was dope.

Except for Julie.

Fuck that bitch.

Short and uppity with giant tits and long, reddish brown hair, Julie was one of those stuck-up types who walked around with her nose in the air like she was better than everyone else. She came from a rich family (Nikki imagined) and thought that made her butt smell like roses. She had these two other girls who followed her around and laughed at her snide comments, but Nikki forgot their names. One was black and pretty with black hair in a ponytail, and the other was white, kinda chunky, and had braces. Like...how are you gonna diss someone when your mouth looks like a railroad switchyard?

They were just dick riders, though, and Nikki didn't even dislike them. Julie, on the other hand, she didn't like on sight. She only started to hate her after last night's campfire, though.

After dinner, everyone in camp gathered around the fire for ghost stories and stuff, and Nikki managed to lose herself in the crowd and sit next to Lincoln without Angela noticing. Now, when you're sitting next to your boo, you hold his hand, right? That's what Nikki did. Well, somehow Angela caught wind of it, came over, and made them separate (damn, this woman has _no _chill). Later on, in the cabin, Nikki was sitting on her bunk with Kristy and talking. Two bunks over, speaking loud enough that she could hear, Julie said to one of her friends, "That boy with the white hair is really cute."

*Record scratch*

Wait, what? There's gotta be some other white haired boy around, cuz I _know _you aren't talking about Lincoln.

"Yeah," Metal Mouth replied, just as loud as her leader, "you should ask him out."

"I might."

Alright, uh-uh. "You mean Lincoln?" Nikki asked.

Julie, sitting Indian style on her own bunk with Metal Mouth and Ponytail in front of her, turned, looked at Nikki and flashed a cold, phony smile. "Is that his name?" Her tone was just as insincere as she was.

"Yeah," Nikki said, "he already has a girlfriend. Me."

Julie flicked her eyes distastefully up and down, appraising Nikki, then hummed. "That's a shame," she said.

It was clear from her tone that she meant it was a shame Lincoln was with _her_.

Really?

Where Nikki came from, you handled snooty little bitches like Julie with your fists, but she let it go. She was already on Angela's radar, she didn't need to make things worse by whipping some girl's ass. The whole reason she asked Lincoln to come along was so they could hang out...and have sex. She wasn't an overly sexual person or anything, but she was mad horny and had been since she left him at the Royal Woods Greyhound station in May. Her plan was to sneak out as soon as Angela was gone, slip into his cabin, get under the covers with him, then Netflix and chill without the Netflix.

Only that didn't happen because Angela was a nutcase who insisted on sleeping _in _the cabin. "Where all the fun is."

She'd been waiting two months to get her hands on Lincoln, and she was being beaver dammed by a possible psychopath.

Nice.

The bathrooms were housed in a separate out building. In the shower room, there were four stalls with wooden doors that didn't reach all the way to the ground and no ceiling. Nikki waited her turn, went into one, and stripped naked. She turned the water on, and gasped at how cold it was. She adjusted the temperature, and when it was warmer (but not really warm), she spun in a slow circle and let it sluice down her body.

In the next stall over, Kristy did the same. "This is your first time here, right?" she asked.

"Yeah," Nikki said and held her head under the spray to wet her hair.

"How do you like it so far?"

"It's pretty autistic, to be honest."

Kristy laughed. "Yeah, well, be glad you weren't here last year. There was a girl who walked around the cabin naked, and when she had to pee, she squatted and did it in a cup."

Ew, really?

"Then she drank it."

Nikki's jaw dropped. "Yo, you're messing with me."

"No, I'm being serious," Kristy laughed.

Okay, Nikki had heard _that _one before...mainly from her own mouth. "Nah, you're playing."

"I am not...about the naked part. She didn't really drink her pee but she did walk around naked. It was really uncomfortable."

Nikki bet. If some girl did that now, she'd probably drop her. After telling her to get dressed. You get one warning, and after that, the gloves come off. "Has Angela always been a huge weirdo?" she asked.

"Yes," Kristy said. "There was a rumor going around last year that she was born a man,"

Nikki's brow furrowed. "Really?"

"Yep. One of the girls said she caught Angela shaving her face...with her penis hanging out."

Okay, that was funny, but probably a lie. "Do you believe it?" Nikki asked. She picked up a bar of soap and lathered her chest. The cool morning air streaming through the cracks around the door combined with her latent arousal made her nipples so hard they ached, and soaping them up only made them throb harder.

"Nah," Kristy said after a moment, "I don't believe that. She's a lot of things, but a guy isn't one of them."

"You never know," Nikki teased. She dipped the bar between her legs and shuddered at the sensation of soap-on-clit. Man, she really wished it was Lincoln-on-clit. If he was here, he could get down on his knees, reach around her hips, grab her butt, and bring her core to his lips…

Now her knees were shaking and she felt like she was going to turn to jelly. If she didn't get her claws in Lincoln soon, she was going to melt.

Next door, Kristy said, "I'm pretty sure."

"Nah, man, I'm telling you, trannys are everywhere. They said on the news that eight out of ten girls are really dudes dressed up like girls."

Kristy snorted. "You're full of shit."

"I swear," Nikki lied, "most chicks are packing a little something extra. You're not?" She got her hands full of suds, set the bar aside, and cleaned her butt crack. Gotta be nice and fresh all over cuz you never know what's gonna come.

Hopefully her and Lincoln.

"No."

"I am," Nikki said, "biggest D in five counties."

"Does it belong to you or your boyfriend?"

An uncharacteristic blush colored Nikki's cheeks and a grin touched her lips. "Wouldn't _you _like to know."

"No, but Julie would."

Aaaaaand there went Nikki's mood. "Yeah, screw her."

"She's just messing with you. She's here every year and whenever there's a new girl, she goes after them. It's like establishing dominance, I guess. Just ignore her."

Alright, fine, but if she tried anything with Lincoln, Nikki would knock her out.

Done, she cut the spray, toweled off, and got dressed. From there, Angela lead her and the others to the dining hall. And by "lead" Nikki meant: She goose stepped like the leader of Nazi marching band and played her guitar while singing at the top of her lungs. "Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to breakfast we go!"

This girl's too high energy for me.

Inside, Nikki waited in line three heads behind Julie and her gal pals, and found herself straining to hear what they were saying. Just ignore her, Kristy said. Yeah, that was a good plan, but she _really _didn't like that trash she was talking about Lincoln.

Was she being jealous? She took inventory of her emotions, and realized that maybe she kinda sorta was...which was gay. A crazy, jealous girlfriend who got all bent out of shape every time another chick so much as looked at her boyfriend was the _last _shit she wanted to be. What she and Lincoln had was pretty great, though, and the thought of losing it frankly scared her. She'd been crushing on him since the moment she first laid eyes on him, and the longer she entertained her feelings, the stronger they became. Losing him would crush her.

So yeah, she was a little touchy about it, but whatever, Kristy was right.

When her turn came, she got her tray and looked around for a place to sit. The rest of her cabin crowded a table off to the left, Angela in the middle like Jesus at the Last Supper. She saw Nikki, smiled giddily, and waved.

Nope.

She went to an empty table and sank into a seat. An indignant shadow flickered across Angela's face, and her lips puckered sourly. Yo, check it, she looked like she was about to cry.

That made Nikki feel kind of bad.

Not bad enough to go sit with her, though.

Before long, the boys filed in, and Nikki perked up. She looked for Lincoln, spotted him at the back of the pack, and couldn't suppress a smile. He saw her, and he smiled too. Julie was right about one thing: Lincoln _was _cute. Very cute. Like, she never went to pieces over a guy the way other girls did (oh, One Direction, you so fine!), but Lincoln made her feel the same way Elvis probably made her grandma feel.

And that was like jelly. Hot, shaking, jelly...that really, really wanted to be spread all over Lincoln's body. Yeaaaah, boy.

She forced herself to calm down and took a bite of cold, mushy scrambled eggs to kill time. A few minutes went by, and someone sat across from her. She looked up, and her smile fell.

It wasn't Lincoln. It was...idk, some dude. A cocky grin danced across his lips and his brown eyes twinkled like the edge of a knife. Freckles smattered his cheeks and his wiry arm muscles flexed beneath his sun-kissed flesh.

He looked like a prep.

"Hey," he said, "name's Chandler."

Kek, that's a prep name. "Hey," she said guardedly.

"What's _your _name?"

"Why do you wanna know?"

Chandler shrugged deeply. "The point of camp is to make friends, right?"

Is it? Nikki thought the point of camp was to get out of your parents' hair for a few weeks and bang your boyfriend while you're at it, but hey, she could be wrong. This was kind of her first go around in the whole summer camp scene. "Nikki," she said.

Chandler's lips pulled back from his teeth in a smile that put her in mind of a shark closing in on its prey, and she was suddenly mad uncomfortable. "That's a pretty name."

"Uh, thanks."

"I haven't seen you around before. Are you new?"

Nikki looked around for Lincoln but didn't see him. He was probably getting his tray. "Yeah," she said, purposely sounding as disinterested as possible. It might sound jaded, but there was only one reason for a dude to approach a chick and strike up a conversation. She wasn't gonna tell him to step off until he confirmed her suspicion, though. She didn't wanna be a sperg anymore than she wanted to be a jealous GF.

Dude: Excuse me, ma'am?

Sperg: I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!

Dude: Alright, damn, I just wanted to know how to get to 6th Street.

"You liking it so far?" Chandler asked.

"Yeah," Nikki replied flatly. Dude, go away.

Chandler nodded slowly to himself. "Where you from?"

"The city," Nikki said. She looked at Angela for help, but she was presently strumming her guitar and swaying from side to side in her seat like a hippie vibing at Woodstock. Seriously? If Lincoln even exists in the same place as me, you swoop in, but now you're chill with it? Whatever.

"Detroit?"

"Yes." She pointedly turned away and watched the door leading out from the room where the lunch counter was. She could feel Chandler watching her, and it was starting to get on her nerves.

Lincoln appeared, and she brightened. She waved him over, and he smiled. When he was closer and saw Chandler, his face fell. He came to a shuffling stop and hesitated, a shadow of anxiety crossing his face.

Like he thought she was cheating on him or something.

Taking a deep breath, he came over and sat next to Nikki.

"Hey, Loud," Chandler grinned.

"Hey," Lincoln muttered. He stared meekly down at his tray, shoulders tense, and in a flash Nikki understood: They knew each other, and some way, somehow, Chandler was a dick to Lincoln.

Well, screw him. She turned to face her boyfriend and tuned the other guy completely out. "Yo, I learned something this morning."

The cafeteria was beginning to fill up, the low din of many voices reverberating off the bare log walls like the roar of the surf. "What?" Lincoln asked.

"Angela's a dude."

Chandler snickered. "I'm actually the one who started that rumor," he lied.

"Cool," Nikki said briskly and without turning, "she had raging morning wood." A devilish idea occurred to her, and she grinned. Watching Chandler from the corner of her eye, she nudged Lincoln in the ribs. "She might even be bigger than you."

Lincoln blushed, and Chandler contrived to display no emotion at all. There, maybe _that _would get her message across. Or maybe not. She should _really _drive the point home. Leaning into Lincoln's ear, she flicked her tongue out and licked it, making him shiver. "I doubt she tastes as good, though."

Chandler prodded the inside of his bottom lip with his tongue and nodded sourly to himself (_I see how it is_). He looked around, then, with nary a word, got up and walked away. Ha, cya.

Now she and Lincoln were alone.

Ish.

"You know him?" she asked and took his hand in hers. She twinned their fingers and squeezed. She'd held tons of dudes' hands in her life (she was kind of a hand holding slut), but none of them ever felt as right as Lincoln's. It was mad corny, but they were like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together.

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah, he's from Royal Woods."

"He's a jerk, huh? He reminds me of Julie." She didn't realize how apt the comparison was until she said it, but yeah, they both had that smug, punchable face you only see on bullies and Covington kids.

"Who's that?"

Nikki rolled her eyes and made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat. "This little thot who thinks her shit don't stink." She hooked her leg over his and, stealing a furtive look around, pulled her hand out of his and laid it on his crotch. He sucked a sharp intake of breath and her core pinched. It was hot and full under her palm and she could clearly feel the outline of his bulge. It twitched like an excited puppy greeting its master, and she purred. Oh, yeah, gimme some of _that_.

"Wonder if I could jack you off under the table," she mused.

There were a few kids down at the end, but none close. The nearest table was packed, but no one could see what she was doing unless they got down on the floor. Lincoln's dick swelled, and she squeezed it through his shorts; all at once, she was flushed from head to toe and her heart beat a sick and unsteady rhythm.

"Uh...I don't think that's a good idea," Lincoln worried. Even so, his hand crept onto her leg, its warmth soaking into her skin and making her already quivering center clutch in sweet anticipation. Ignoring his reticence, she jammed her fingers into his waistband and slipped her hand between his legs. She wrapped her fingers around his dick and unconsciously bit her bottom lip. He was hotter than she remembered, and softer too, like rigid iron sheathed in silk. Lincoln bowed his head and licked his lips, a strained expression on his face. He looked like that dude trying not to fart in front of a pretty girl, and something about that made Nikki wanna maul him like a giant bird of prey.

He grazed his fingertips up the inside of her thigh, and a shiver streaked down her spine. She stroked slowly along his length, her thumb brushing the tip, and she swallowed thickly. Have you ever been so turned on you're literally paralyzed? Nikki hadn't...until now. She could hardly move, barely even breathe. In Lincoln's eyes, she saw the same need she felt betwixt her thighs. His fingers slid up the leg of her shorts, inches from her pussy, and she snapped her legs closed with a body-wide shudder.

Okay, this was a crossroads moment, cuz she was either going to stop or she was going to pounce him and take him right here in front of everyone.

A mischievous light twinkled in his eye and a knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth. He pulsed needily in her hand and tried to get to her middle.

"We better stop," she said and released him. "I-I'm really turned on."

"Me too," he said and pulled away. "Do, uh...do you wanna meet up tonight? I can sneak over." There was an desperate inflection in his voice that told her he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Crossing her legs and squeezing to relieve some of the pressure, she took a deep breath. "I doubt that's gonna happen. Angela literally sleeps on the floor. I had to step over her to get a drink of water."

"Oh," Lincoln said dejectedly. "Is she a heavy sleeper?"

Remembering the way Angela popped up, all creepy smiles, the night before (_hey, what'cha doin'?_), Nikki shook her head. "No." She blushed harder and looked at her lap. "And I dunno if I can be quiet."

Lincoln sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "Well...we can try to meet somewhere."

"Where, though?" she asked. "I don't even know what's around here."

He didn't reply for a moment. "Well, we can just keep our eyes open, and if one of us sees a good place, just do it there."

Do it.

Yes, please.

"Alright," she said. "I'll see you at the bonfire so if I have something I'll tell you then."

Shortly, Angela got to her feet. "Alright, girls," she called, "move out."

Nikki leaned over and kissed the corner of Lincoln's mouth. She _wanted _to get some of that sweet tongue action, but she didn't wanna piss Angela off too much. "I'll see you later," she said.

"Bye," he said.

He sounded so sad, and it made Nikki want to cry.

Instead, she would find the perfect place for them to get it on, and get it on they would, come hell or high water.

* * *

"This sucks," Thad panted. His doughy face was beet red and lightly coated in sweat, and dark patches spread out from the armpits of his Camp Rolling Hills T-shirt. Sherman, head hung and sodden black bangs veiling his eyes, dragged himself along like a POW on a forced trek from one prison to another, and Rachaud limped heavily on one foot; he stepped in a hole a quarter mile back and went down like a two cent whore. Wet tracks through the dust on his face gave testament to how well he handled it.

Lincoln, for his part, was just hot...in more ways than one. He wasn't proud of this, but he was so close to cumming when Nikki was touching him that a single quick jerk would have sent him toppling over the edge. Ever since, he'd been semi-erect, necessitating a crouching giant he passed off as a war injury (yeah, I was invading Normandy in _Call of Honor_ and, long story short, I died). Every so often, he surreptitiously adjusted his shorts to hide his partial chub, and even though no one seemed to notice, he had the terrible feeling that everyone knew...and was judging him.

They were currently on a narrow dirt trail in the forest west of camp, flashes of the lake visible through the trees to their left and evenly spaced pines to the right. Sunshine cascaded through the higher boughs and made wavering coins of brilliance on the ground. Kevin and another councilor, a black guy named Mel, were at the head, and Chandler, Poppa, and Ricky were at the back. Lincoln didn't like having them behind him, but so far they hadn't messed with him.

He went back to finding Chandler with Nikki earlier, and a pang of unnamable emotion rippled through him. Lincoln _really _didn't like him talking to her; he was nothing but trouble and would only bring her grief like he did everyone else. He hoped he didn't like her. He wasn't worried about Nikki or anything, or so he told himself, he was worried about Chandler.

Right now, though, he was worried about finding a good spot for him and Nikki. They'd been on the path for close to an hour, and the only thing he'd seen besides trees and rocks was an abandoned and overgrown cabin by the lake's edge. The roof was caved in, the front sagged, and a gnarled tree trunk grew up from the center like a hand reaching from a grave. He pictured the inside being just as bad: Lumpy, rotting floors, decaying walls, nests of raccoons, possum, and vampires, no Wi-Fi...ugh. They _could _always do it in the woods if they laid a blanket down, but Kevin said there were bears and bobcats around, and Lincoln was kind of worried they'd run into one if they came out here alone. He wanted Nikki in a baaaaad way, but not bad enough that he wanted to risk getting ripped apart by wild animals.

"My feet hurt," Thad moaned.

"I'm starting to burn," Sherman said and frowned at one pasty arm. Before they left, he rubbed a copious amount of sunscreen on his skeletal arms and jagged face; his nose was white, which meant he was a lifeguard (there's no hiding the lifeguard look, Spongebob).

"I'm part black so I don't burn," Rachaud said proudly.

Sherman adjusted his glasses and squinted his eyes. "Then what's that?" He poked his index finger into Rachaud's neck (fire truck red, btw), and Rachaud yelped.

The trail curved gradually to the right and climbed a gentle hillside. At the top, Thad doubled over, clasped his hands to his knees, and heaved for breath. "You alright?" Lincoln asked.

"No," he puffed, "I'm...gonna….die…"

He stood up straight, glanced at a stand of green, shiny leaves, and reached for one. Sherman gasped and grabbed his arm. "No, don't touch that! It's highly dangerous!"

"Is it food?"

"No, it's poison sumac, it'll mess you all up. I sat in some at band camp once. Trust me, you do _not _want to make the same mistake I did."

Way in the rear, Chandler moseyed along with the unhurried leisure of a man who lived by no rules but his own, Poppa Wheelie to his left and Ricky to his right. Poppa's face was flushed and sweaty and his man boobs trembled with every labored breath; Ricky darted his eyes nervously around, cringing at every noise. "Will you stop being such a pussy?" Chandler snapped. "There are no bobcats around here, Kevin's full of it."

"I'm not scared," Ricky stammered, "just, uh, seeing the sights."

Lie. Ricky, from the inner city of Detroit, had never seen a tree in his life, so he might as well have been a cowardly astronaut on a strange planet full of hostile lifeforms. Birds scared him, coons scared him, hell, even bugs scared him; at the bonfire last night, a dragon fly buzzed close to his ear, and he screamed, jumped up, and ran away like a little girl.

Detroit.

That reminded him of Nikki, and his features settled into a hard glower. Most girls go to pieces when he designed to talk to them, but not her; she virtually ignored him, and it was clear from her tone that she wasn't impressed with him. That alone pissed him off, but then, Loud came over and she looked at him with big, adoring eyes, like he was the greatest thing ever. Chandler had never been more insulted in his life; she should have looked at _him _that way, not Loud. Loud was a little geek and probably a faggot too. Chandler was a _real _man, and being denied the attention and veneration of females that he so rightly deserved was a slap in his face.

He didn't like Loud before, but now he downright _hated _him, and as they moved up the path, Chandler's gaze bore into his back like lasers, his mind working like an evil dynamo. Some way, somehow, he was going to make that white-haired homo pay for showing him up.

But how?

"...poison sumac, it'll mess you all up. I sat in some at band camp once. Trust me, you do _not _want to make the same mistake I did."

Chandler glanced to the left; tangles of bushes with shiny green leaves pressed against the edge of the trail. Yep, that was poison sumac, alright.

And in a flash, Chandler knew what he was going to do.

Shooting out his arm, he whacked the back of his hand into Poppa Wheelie's jiggly tits. "Hey," he said and nodded to the sumac, "grab a handful of that stuff and shove it down the back of Loud's shorts."

The fat boy's face went white and his eyes widened like a deer in headlights. He'd been hanging with Chandler long enough to know that once he gave you an order, there was no going back and no wiggling out; you followed it or suffered the consequences. "D-Dude, no," he said anyway, "I'm allergic to that stuff."

"I don't care," Chandler snorted, "do it."

Poppa Wheelie looked apprehensively from Chandler to the bush then back again, his eyes filled with pleading.

Flashing, Chandler grabbed the front of his shirt, and he squealed. Chandler dragged him close and cocked his fist. "Do it or I'll knock 300 pounds off your ass," he hissed.

"Okay! Okay!"

Chandler shoved him away, and gulping, he went over to the bush. Loud and the others were twenty feet up the path and drawing away. Poppa stood before the sumac like a boy before a sleeping monster, his shoulders shaking with tension. "Go on," Ricky taunted, "unless you're chicken."

Chandler grated and turned to him; the Hispanic's big, dopey smile pissed him off. "Hey," he said, "is that a mountain lion behind you?"

Crying out, Ricky jumped and spun around, nearly falling. Chandler snickered mean-spiritedly and put his hands on his hips. Poppa Wheelie reached tentatively out, paused, and seemed to have second thoughts. "Do it," Chandler spat.

"I am!" he whined over his shoulder. Turning his head to one side and squeezing his eyes shut, he jammed one hand into the bush and grabbed a branch. He pulled, grunted, and strained; it came off, and he stumbled back. He spun on his heels and hurried after Loud as though the sumac were literally burning him and he wanted it gone as soon as possible. Chandler nudged Ricky's ribs and grinned. This was gonna be good.

Poppa huffed and wheezed, his fat little legs carrying him as fast as they could. He closed the distance between him and Loud - fifteen feet, ten, five. He was almost there when disaster struck. He kicked something, a rock maybe, and crying out, he pitched forward. He pinwheeled his arms in a desperate attempt to keep from falling, but to no avail; he toppled over like a tree crashing down, and at the last minute he threw his hands up to break the impact...his face landing right in the sumac.

He screamed and struggled to his feet, and Chandler let out a frustrated sigh. "He can't do anything right," he said.

Poppa danced back and forth, hysterically rubbing his face with his hands. Everyone else stopped and looked back at him, their expressions ranging from mild concern to open amusement. Kevin furrowed his brow. "Poppa, what's wrong?"

"I FELL IN POISON SUMAC!"

The high, keening tone of his voice made Chandler laugh.

"Alright," Kevin sighed, "we better start back."

On the return trip, Chandler, Ricky, and Poppa Wheelie once again trailed behind (no pun intended, puns are retarded). Chandler made sure to have Ricky in-between him and Poppa. The Hispanic warily watched Poppa from the corner of his eye, and if he moved too suddenly, Ricky jumped back with a cry of alarm. "Don't touch me, you're infected!"

Indeed he was. His face and hands were covered in an angry red rash. He frantically scratched his neck, cheeks, and forehead. "It's in my mouth too," he slurred.

By the time they got back, his face and hands were both swollen and his tongue poked motionless from between his puffy lips. Mel lead the others to the dining hall, while Kevin came back to check Poppa. When he saw him, he cringed. "Oooh."

Donning his best worried-friend voice, Chandler said, "He's real bad off, Kevin. Is he going to die?" The thought of Poppa dying didn't excite Chandler, though the image of him thrashing on the ground in agony did.

Kevin grasped for words. "Uh...well, probably not -"

Poppa shook. "_Pobby naht?"_

"Let's, uh, get you to the nurse."

Kevin and Poppa took off for the infirmary, Poppa with his head hanged, and when they were gone, Chandler drew a deep breath. "I hope he's okay," Ricky said.

"I don't care about him," Chandler said, "I care about Loud. He made me look stupid this morning and he's gonna pay _dearly_."

Ricky was quiet for a minute. "How?"

"I don't know," Chandler said.

Then.

"Yet."

* * *

It never occurred to Nikki just how tall and gangly she was until it came time to do something that required grace and finesse. She'd always been a little on the towering-over-everyone-else-even-the-boys side, but last fall, she hit a growth spurt and shot up like Columbine.

Okay, that wasn't funny, but yeah, she was big af. Standing on the pier with the other girls, her arms crossed nervously over her chest, she watched Angela climb into one of the canons tied to the pylon; it rocked sickeningly from side to side and tried to drift, but the rope pulled tight. Angela steadied herself, then strummed her guitar. It had been slung over one shoulder the entire time, and Nikki couldn't help being impressed by how she could balance with it on. "There we go," she said, "all aboard."

Yeah, this isn't going to work out well. Nikki was, like, well over five feet, most of it in her legs, and because of the extra height, she was kind of clumsy. All that junk she talked about being good at skateboarding? Yeah, it was just that, junk. She sucked and everyone knew it, herself included. She fell from her board more than a drunk from the wagon, and if she made it twenty feet without stumbling, it was a good day. If she got in that boat, bad things were going to happen.

Another counselor, a Mexican girl named Caroline, stepped down into another boat, her hand braced on one of the pylons, then beckoned to Julie, who rolled her eyes nastily and climbed in.

"I don't wanna do this," Nikki said.

"Oh, it's not that bad," Kristy said reassuringly,

"Yes it is." Nikki looked out over the lake. Way on the other side, trees leered like creepy hobos (_hey, tall girl, c'mere)_ and off to the right, an island sat in the water, pines and oaks packed tightly on its shore. Per Angela, that was there destination.

You know, a remote island in the middle of a lake was a pretty dope place for two horny campers to get it on. The sucky part was getting there. The only thing she knew about boats came from that super long movie where one hits an iceberg and sinks, and that wasn't exactly an encouraging foundation for seafaring success. She doubted Lincoln was any more knowledgeable.

Actually, why not do it in a canoe? They could shove off then _get _off.

Hahaha. Nikki cracked herself up sometimes.

But seriously, that wouldn't work either; they'd tip over and probably drown. She wanted the D, but not _that _bad.

"It really isn't," Kristy said with the confidence of a girl who didn't have springy, abnormally long legs, "you just gotta be careful, that's all."

Careful wasn't a concept Nikki was accustomed to. 1), because she lived in the moment and took risks, and 2) because c'mon, look at me, I'm a giant. Tall. Unwieldy. You couldn't pay me to be careful.

Angela strummed her guitar and sang. "Kristy, come on down, get in the boat, we're going 'round. The lake, to have some fun, for goodness sake. Yeeeeah."

Ugh, being sexually frustrated was bad enough, but having to listen to Joan Baez too? You're going to camp this summer, Nikki, her mom said, it'll be a lotta fun, she said. Yeah, the same way prison is fun. Before she came, she loaded up on movies set at summer camps as, like, a crash course so she knew what to expect. Going in, she thought the worst case scenario would involve a guy with a huge machete, but he'd be a joy compared to Angela. At least machete dude doesn't talk or play a guitar.

Going forward, Kristy sat on the edge of the dock and slipped effortlessly into the boat. Yo, way to show off.

Julie's friend Braces (her name was Becky, btw, like, you know, a basic bitch) came next. Despite her muffin top and bulging hips, she boarded like a pro. A couple other girls went, then, finally, it was Nikki's turn. "C'mon, Nikki," Angela said and strummed. "Get in the boat, it's gonna be sick-ie, we're gonna have a good time, don't be shy, the water's fine!"

Keep it up, and _I'm _gonna be sick-ie. "Uh…I, uh…"

Everyone was looking at her, and she squirmed. "I knew she was afraid of water," Julie said loud enough so Nikki could hear, "have you smelled her?"

A couple girls laughed, and Caroline shot her an admonishing glare. "That wasn't very nice, Julie."

Yeah? I'll show _you _who's afraid of water.

Nikki stepped to the edge of the pier and looked down. It wasn't far, but her head spun anyway. Okay, maybe I _won't _show you.

"C'mon, Nikki," Angela said in her normal speaking voice, which was only marginally less annoying that her singing voice, "look, I'll help."

She thrust out her hand, and Nikki looked at it. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, judging her, mocking her, and she blushed. "Uh...okay. I've never been on a boat before so, uh, I'm kinda nervous."

"It won't bite," Angela said, "but the fish around here do."

Oh. Comforting.

She took Angela's hand and stepped one foot gingerly into the boat. It swayed and Nikki's heart blasted into her throat. She tried to pull away, but Angela held tight. "Step down," Angela commanded.

Nikki put her weight on her boat foot, and it rocked again. She started to fall, and her chest clutched. She tried to save herself, but she lost her balance and fell forward. Angela screamed, and before Nikki knew it, the boat was capsizing. Nikki crashed into the water and instantly flailed her arms and legs in panic. Her butt sank into the muddy lake bed, and pushing up with her feet, she broke the surface with a frenzied gasp. The boat sat with its bottom facing up, and heads bobbed all around.

Damn it, I knew that was going to happen.

Everyone in the other boat exploded in laughter, even Caroline; she hid her mouth behind her hands and hitched with merriment. Julie threw her head back and brayed, and her other friend, Kira, pointed. "Good job, Icky!" Julie cried and everyone laughed even harder.

Nikki sucked a savage breath through her nose. That girl was really pushing it.

Angela stood up, the water coming to her knees, and worriedly checked her guitar like it was a baby. She strummed, then smiled. "We're all good!"

This is 'good'?

I'd hate to see bad.

Something told her that before her time at Camp Rolling Hills, she would.

And she was right.


	3. Round the Fire

Just before dusk at the end of his first day at Camp Rolling Hills, Lincoln Loud sat cross-legged on his bunk in Cabin 3A with a pad of paper in his lap and a pencil clutched loosely in one hand. Boys laughed, rough housed, and argued all around, making it hard to concentrate, and beads of sweat tickled the back of his neck. Even with the windows open, it was much hotter in here than it was outside, and after ten minutes, he was slathered in perspiration like a turkey in the oven. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and reread the letter before him.

_Dear everyone._

_Camp is a lot of fun. Today a guy got covered in poysin soomack, someone else got hit in the face with a softball, and I made a birdhouse and almost cut my thumb off. There's a really huge beehive in the boys bathroom and every time I go poop I play Will I Get Stung? The point of the game is to not get stung. I'm not very good I keep loosing. _

As if on cue, the welts dotting the back of his neck twanged. What else happened today? He went back to the softball game earlier between 3A and 3B. The kid who got hit was from Lincoln's cottage. He was batting and Chandler was pitching. Chandler wound up, threw, and BAM, the kid was stretched out in the dirt gushing blood from his nose. Kevin and Mel ran over, helped him up, and hustled him to the infirmary, Kevin chanting, "Keep your head tilted back, keep your head tilted." Lincoln was absolutely certain that Chandler did it on purpose; he stood there on the mound fighting to suppress a wicked smile and failing, which told Lincoln all he needed to know. He looked at Lincoln, who stood on the sidelines, and nodded. "You're up, Loud."

Uh...no, I'm not.

He turned tail and ran, and didn't see Chandler again until dinnertime. He sat at a long table between Ricky and Poppa Wheelie, checking out and whistling at every girl who passed. Poppa's face wasn't as bloated as it was before, but his skin was redder and his eyes swollen almost shut. His hands were heavily bandaged, and he kept dropping his fork. Finally, a chubby girl with red hair took pity on him, sat next to him, and fed him like he was a baby.

They served the same thing as the day before, but on the plus side, he got to sit with Nikki again; Angela was nowhere to be seen, so no one bothered them. "Did you find anywhere?" Nikki asked hopefully.

"No," he sighed. "You?"

Nikki sorrowfully bowed her head, and that was all the answer Lincoln needed. "There's an island," she offered, "we rowed there earlier, it's actually pretty sweet. There's a cave full of bats and pointy things."

"Stalagmites?" Lincoln asked.

"I dunno what kinda bats they were," she said, "maybe."

A bat-filled cave on a virtually inaccessible island didn't exactly sound like the kind of place where bow could be easily chicka-wow-wowed. He knew how to swim, but he couldn't pilot a boat to save his life; he and Nikki would somehow wind up lost in the Pacific Ocean with no idea how they got there and no clue how to get back. They'd paddle and paddle and paddle, then either starve to death or get decimated by a typhoon. Then again, they could have lots and lots of sex. Who was gonna say no? The whales? The crippling dehydration?

Stealing a boat and making for Batcave Island was almost worth it.

Almost.

"How long until the bonfire?" he asked.

Nikki took a bite of her roll. "I dunno, like an hour and a half?"

That gave him ninety minutes to find a suitable place for him and Nikki to meet. He wouldn't see her again after the fire, so it was crunch time, as Lynn would say.

After dinner, he and the other boys lined up, and Kevin lead them back to the cabin. Lincoln whipped his gaze left and right in search of a love nest, and that's when he saw it, a bus painted a crazy confusion of colors and parked in tall grass to the right of the wooden CAMP ROLLING HILLS arch straddling the entrance. He'd seen it before but he hadn't really registered it. Now he did, and the skies metaphorically opened up.

"What's that bus?" he asked Kevin.

Kevin chuckled wistfully. "That's the friendship bus," he said, "it was given to us by Camp Arawak."

Unasked, Kevin launched into an epic story that Lincoln only half heard. In the eighties, Camp Arawak, which lies on the other side of the lake, and Camp Rolling Hills were locked in a bitter rivalry. One day, a bunch of boys from Arawak and a bunch of boys from Rolling Hills rowed out to the middle of the lake and fought boat-to-boat like pirates. Something happened, and both capsized. Everyone was drowned and the camps, united in their grief or something, decided to put aside their differences and become friends. They gave Rolling Hills the bus and Rolling Hills built them a friendship gazebo. "Let that be a lesson to you boys," he finished soberly, but didn't elaborate.

Dude, I just wanted to know if it's a good place to do stuff with my girlfriend.

Presently, Lincoln reread the letter and restively tapped the pencil against the page. Was this too sarcastic? Maybe he should change it. He didn't want Mom and Dad to worry, he just wanted them to know that summer camp sucked.

"Alright, boys," Kevin called from the door and clapped his hands, "fire time."

One step closer to Nikkicoln time. That was their ship name, he literally just made it up. The guy's name is usually supposed to come first (right?) but that would make it Linckki, which was the same as his nickname. Speaking of that, Leni spelled it "Linky" a couple times in text, but he always spelled it "Lincy". Like, hello, there's no K in my name. But Leni is Leni, so you have to forgive her.

Setting the notepad aside for later, Lincoln swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pulled his shoes on, and got up. Everyone formed a neat, single-file line in front of Kevin, with Lincoln in the rear between Thad and a boy named Justin, then followed him outside.

Soft purple twilight lay over the land and fireflies danced like swirls of wind-swept emeralds. The orchestral symphony of a million crickets drifted through the clearing, and the North Star twinkled knowingly in the rapidly darkening sky. The firepit, a giant circle of stones surrounded by logs, stumps, and big, canned rocks, sat back from the lake to the west of the dinning hall. An A-shaped pile of kindling burned brightly, casting the faces clustered around in warm, orange glow, and embers drifted up like lightning bugs. Lincoln found Nikki sitting on a log with her knees pressed together, and went over to sit beside her. She sat up straight, tossed her hair out of her face, and greeted him with an impish smile.

Taking her hand, he threaded their fingers. Leaning in close, he whispered, "I found a place."

Her eyes lit up. "Where?" she asked.

He told her, and she scrunched her lips thoughtfully. "A bus, huh? Like...where are we gonna do it? One of the seats? How's that gonna work? I guess I could get in your lap and ride you, or you can bend me over."

A girl sitting next to her gasped in horror and shot her a look of open-mouthed shock, and Nikki blushed cutely. "Uh, it's not what it sounds like. I swear."

The girl held up a forestalling hand (no, no, don't) and turned her head away.

"We'll figure that out when we get there," Lincoln said.

"What kind of shape is it in?" she asked. "Like, inside? It's been there for, like, fifty years."

"I dunno."

She hummed. "Hopefully it's not too bad." She squeezed his hand and started to speak, then thought better of it, leaned in, and lowered her voice. "But I'm really horny, so it doesn't really matter." She bit her bottom lip and waggled her eyebrows.

Oh, Lincoln felt her pain. He felt it _very _much. It was worse now than it was before his and Nikki's first time. Back then, he got horny, but it wasn't as keen or urgent as now. Probably because he didn't really know what he was missing. He could use his imagination, but he didn't have a tangible point of reference. Now he did.

At the head of the fire, Angela sat on a rock and strummed her guitar; Kevin and a few other councillors went around the circle passing out sticks and marshmallows from a bag. Across from Lincoln, Chandler glared into the flames, catching flashes of him and Nikki grinning at each other, and his rage grew until he fumed with it. Neither one was looking at him, neither even knew he was there, but they were taunting him anyway, laughing at him, mocking him.

Beside him, Poppa Wheelie sat next to that Katie girl who'd been following him around since dinner. She held a marshmallow skwewered stick in each hand and thrust them into the fire. The way she looked at Poppa - stupid goo-goo eyes like she liked him - pissed Chandler off, but not as much as Nikki looking at Lincoln pissed him off. That _really _made him mad. Loud was a little white-haired dork, he didn't deserve a girlfriend.

Ricky, on Chandler's other side, held his marshmallows in the fire, turning it over so that it browned evenly. Chandler shoved his marshmallow into his mouth and hissed as it burned his tongue.

An idea struck him, and he hurriedly swallowed. "Hey," he said, and Ricky glanced at him. "Fling your marshmallow at Loud's face."

Ricky's brow knitted. "What?"

"Throw it at his face," Chandler repeated. Ricky wasn't good for much, but he could throw.

"That might really hurt him," he said, "this thing's, like, molton, dude."

Chandler smirked. "Exactly."

Ricky pulled the marshmallow from the fire; it burned and started to char, and he blew it out. "I don't know," he said.

"I do," Chandler snapped, "throw it as his face or I'm gonna shove it down your throat."

Sighing, Ricky scooted to his right to get a better shot. Nikki and Lincoln sat directly across and up from him. He leaned over, brought the stick up, and lined up his shot, hesitating like the coward he was. "Do it," Chandler hissed.

Ricky's hand jerked, and instead of going forward, the bubbling glob of white heat went _back_, splattering his nose and lips. Letting out a pained howl, Ricky jumped to his feet and frantically slapped at the mess in a mindless attempt to get it off. Chandler rolled his eyes. Seriously? Why did he even hang out with these good for nothing assholes?

Kevin came over as Ricky wiped the marshmallow off. "What's wrong?" Ricky looked up at him, and he winced. The boy's nose and lips were a raw shade of scoured red and tears welled in his brown eyes. "Let's go put some ice on that."

He and Ricky started off, and Chandler shook his head. Katie held out one of the sticks, and Poppa took a tentative bite. She giggled, and Chandler grated. Leaning over, he plucked the stick from her hand and tossed it, and Poppa's marshmallow, into the fire...then mimicked her laugh. "Hehehehehe."

She stared at him blankly, then shrugged. "That's okay," she said perkily and batted her eyelashes at Poppa, "you can have some of mine."

Chandler waved them off.

Beyond the flames, Nikki and Lincoln faced each other, their hands clasped and their eyes darting between the other's gaze and their own laps. Firelight bathed Nikki's face and sparkled in her eyes, and a band of emotion tightened around Lincoln's chest. "You're really beautiful," he heard himself say.

Nikki blushed and grinned goofily at her knees. "No I'm not," she said through her smile. She wasn't used to being complimented and it made her uncomfortable, but the look in Lincoln's eyes was genuine...he really did think she was beautiful...and that made her feel really good. "But you are."

He tittered, unsure how to respond. He didn't think he looked particularly bad, but he wouldn't say he was _beautiful_. For one thing, he had white hair, and no matter how much he said he was okay with it, he was still just a _little _self-conscious. The other kids at school used to go extraordinarily hard on him, and a few still did...like Chandler. For another, he had chipped teeth that made his mouth look like a can opener.

"No, you are," he said.

Nikki shook her head. "Nah, you are."

"No, you are."

"Dude, I'm telling you, you are."

Laughter rose from the head of the fire, and Angela got to her feet. "Tell the one about the skeleton," someone said.

Oh, great, ghost story time. Last night, Kevin told one about a fisherman who drowned in the lake back in the forties. Every full moon night, he came out of the water and looked for someone to drag back with him. If you listened really carefully, you could hear his wet boots squeaking with every infernal step…

"You guys wanna hear that one?" Angela asked and looked around. "It's _reaaaaally _scary."

A murmur went through the crowd.

Ripping one of her patent chords, she said, "Okay, then, don't say I didn't warn you."

She cleared her throat, took a deep breath through her nose, rolled her neck, bent one knee, then the other, then flexed her shoulders. Lincoln divided his attention between her and Nikki, his brow furrowed bemusedly. Was she going to tell a story or fight Seth Rollins? "Once upon a time," she started in a low, sinister voice, "there was a spooky skeleton who lived in the woods." She widened her eyes and looked around. A couple kids who had obviously heard the story before snickered, and a few others rolled their eyes.

Lincoln brushed his thumb across Nikki's knuckles, then lifted her hand to his lips. The salty scent of her skin filled his nose, and he pecked her fingers one by one. She shuddered and blushed scarlet. He met her gaze, and for a moment, they stared into one another's eyes. The air between them crackled with meaning, and slowly, they leaned into each other's lips. Lincoln cupped Nikki's cheek in his hand and massaged her tongue with his, the heady taste of her mouth, sweeter and better than he remembered, intoxicating his senses. She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled his body flush with hers, and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately back. Lincoln felt himself beginning to slip, and if they didn't stop, he'd lose control.

She must have felt the same, for they pulled apart mutually, and both fought to catch their breathing.

"And one year," Angela said, looking around again, "he missed the bus and didn't get to go to camp. The end."

Silence.

"Spinetingling," Julie said sarcastically.

"I told you guys it was scary," Angela said smugly. "Now, who wants to sing Kumbyya? Huh?"

Everyone groaned, even the other councillors.

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun!"

Lincoln slipped his arm around Nikki's waist and she rested the side of her on the top of his. Being so tall, she had to bend a little, and while it strained her neck muscles, she didn't mind; in fact, she was never more comfortable in her entire life than she was right now.

Climbing onto her rock and facing the crowd like a messiah of goofballs, Angela strummed her guitar. "C'mon, everybody!" She swayed from side to side. "Kumbaya, my Lord! Kumbaya!"

Everyone else either mumbled half-heartedly along or went on roasting their marshmallows. It was full dark now, night held at bay by the flickering brilliance; bugs drawn by the light buzzed around Lincoln's ears, and one landed on his arm, perhaps to drink his blood, or maybe just to rest. Stars twinkled overhead like flecks of ice on black satin, and the cricket song went ever on, an endless serenade soothing the creatures of the night.

When the campers broke and streamed back to their cabins, it was past ten and Lincoln was sweaty and covered in grit. His arms and face ached, from the fire heat or sunburn he couldn't tell, and his muscles quivered with weariness. In the cabin, everyone prepared for bed: Teeth were brushed, faces washed, and clothes shed. Stripping to his underwear, Lincoln climbed into his bunk and stretched out on the covers; the air was stuffy, stagnant, and hot, redolent of closed up space and mildew. The taste of Nikki's mouth lingered on his lips, and he unconsciously savored it, rolling it over his tongue and breathing it through his nose.

He laced his hands behind his head and stared up at the wooden slats crisscrossing the mattress above him. Sherman scurried up the ladder, and the bed dipped with an aged groan; Lincoln winced in dread expectation of it collapsing on him, but it held.

For now.

Kevin snapped the lights out and left, and within minutes, silence descended like a curtain at the end of a grand stage show. Lincoln waited, and after twenty minutes, got up again.

Almost time for Nikkicoln.


	4. The Friendship Bus

**RandomReviewerReturns: Lol, you're the first person to connect Angela to the Sleepaway Camp movies. She's totally based on the Angela from parts 2 and 3; she's my favorite slasher villain of all time and once I started writing this story, I knew I had to pay homage to her. I don't want to spoil anything, but my take is **_**probably **_**not a sadistic serial killer.**

You wouldn't know it from looking at her, but Angela snored. _Loud_. Nikki estimated her weight at 100 pounds - which, incidentally, is what Nikki was - but when she slept, she turned into a 300 pound lumberjack. The sound reverberated through the sweltering darkness like the low rumble of a tractor trailer struggling up a steep incline, and Kristy restlessly tossed in the bed over Nikki's, sighing her frustration. In the next bunk over, another girl lay on her stomach with her pillow covering the back of her head.

A dusty shaft of moonlight fell through the window and lay across the floor in a long, narrow bar, and Nikki vacantly stared at it, one socked foot jittering in annoyance. It was getting late and not everyone was asleep, which would make sneaking out a little difficult. She didn't trust anyone to not snitch her out, especially Julie and her friends. Were they sleeping? She propped herself up on her elbows and squinted into the black; she could just make out an unmoving lump on Julie's bed.

Nikki laid back down and drummed her fingers on her chest. The promise of being with Lincoln roiled in her stomach like acid, and excitement burst hotly inside of her, crashing unsteadily as a dying heart. Dirty thoughts strained at the edges of her consciousness, and she fought them back, prevailing but only just. She was hot all over, and not from the heat alone, and her middle rolled end over end. She caught herself rubbing her legs together, building light-headed friction between her thighs, and forced herself to stop.

Okay, deep breath and relax.

Heh, that was easier said than done. She'd been waiting two months, and by now, every second was like an hour, every hour an eternity. Her wet center smoldered and her nipples throbbed insistently against the thin fabric of her T-shirt. Yo, being turned on sucks. Like, does anyone actually _enjoy _this? She'd rather be tossed in a giant cauldron of boiling water with carrots, celery, and potatoes than keep feeling like this. It was kind of like having a fever, but inside instead of outside. She could manage just fine if she played with herself - that was a perfectly normal and natural thing to do, by the way. A lot of girls do it, they just don't talk about it the way guys do. Dudes are like _Yo, I was pounding off last night and blew a massive nut. It was sick. _Girls don't do that, at least she and the girls she hung with didn't. She bet they all did jilled off, though.

Or maybe she was the kind of female pervert who only exists in internet fan fiction. She read some of that stuff, and you can tell all the girls are written by dudes. _Mary walked into the room, keenly aware of her full, supple breasts. She looked around, found a guy, and jumped him at random cuz she's totally DTF, unlike all the stuck-up bitches who keep rejecting me. I wish Mary was real. _Look, girls like sex too, but they're not dudes; tbh, dudes are dogs - they'll eat a turd off the ground without a second thought because they're hungry. Chicks, by and large, wait until the right meal comes along, feel me? Kinda like how she waited for Lincoln. She didn't _know _she was wating for him specifically, just waiting for the right guy. When she first met him, she didn't throw herself at him or anything, just was like _Whoa, he's cute and has a personality I can vibe with_. That time she visited him in Royal Woods, she wasn't planning to mount him like an FFN waifu, she was just to tell him how she felt and _maybe _kiss him. Things, just, you know, got outta hand, like they sometimes do with boys and girls.

Tl;dr, Nikki weren't no ho, but when it came to White Hair McGee, she was ready and willing.

Too bad Angela was keeping a bunch of people awake. If this kept up, she'd miss out, and have to suffer another day of mind-clouding horniness.

That pissed her off.

_SNORE!_

Baring her teeth, she sat up and looked around for something to throw before settling on one of her shoes. She picked it up, leaned over for better aim, and chucked it into the night.

Angela snorted and stirred. "W-Who threw t-that at me?" she muttered sleepily. "I'll send you...I'll send you h-home." She trailed off and her breathing evened out, audible but not as loud as before.

"Thank you," someone said with a sigh of relief.

Nikki held up a hand (please, hold the applause) and settled back against the pillow. What time was it? Eleven, at least. Was Lincoln already at the bus waiting for her? If so, how long had he been there? Was he getting impatient? Starting to think she wouldn't come?

Dread gripped her and she drew her knees up in an M. Nervous energy flowed through her like an electrical current and her foot started to tap again. She could, theoretically, just walk out the door and front like she was going to the bathroom. It's not like getting up to pee was against the rules. If one of the other girls was awake when she left and then came back an hour later, though, she might get suspicious and mention it to Angela in the morning. Or, gulp, even wake her up. She saw a team of counselors scouring the camp in search of her, flashlights ablaze, and cringed. What would they do if they caught her and Lincoln...ya know...with their pants down? Send them home? That wasn't _sooo_ bad, but she wanted maximum time with him, both lewd and otherwise, and getting sent home two days in would be counterproductive.

Hmmm. Best to just wait.

So that's what she did. Minutes passed at a crawl, and suspense swelled in her chest with every revolution of her internal clock. Dainty snores drifted from Kristy's bunk, and the girl with a pillow over her head lay on her side facing away, her back gently rising and falling. Was everyone asleep? Nikki sat cautiously up and looked around, paying special attention to Julie. She lay flat on her back, mouth hanging out and bubbling with drool. If Nikki knew her type half as well as she thought she did, she might fake sleep, but she would _never _lower herself to drooling for realism.

Cocking her head, Nikki listened. The only sounds were light snores, shallow, rhythmic breathing, and the ever present chirping of crickets. Nikki anxiously licked her lips. Moment of truth,

Moving with care and deliberation, she slipped out of bed and stood, wincing when a floorboard creaked beneath her feet. She stopped, listened, and went on, her heart crashing. She tiptoed toward the door, sure that at any moment Angela would pop up, grab her ankle, and start singing the Happy Camper Song. _By the grace of God, Nikki, you'll camp...until you DIE! _*pulls out knife*

She passed without incident, and reached the door. She cast a worried look over her shoulder and squinted. Was someone moving? It looked like someone was moving. No? Good. She turned the knob and pulled the door open just wide enough that she could wiggle out. On the covered porch, she went down the steps, realized she forgot her shoes, and paused. Oh well, she wasn't going back in to get them.

The moon sat high over the lake, its silvery light dappling the inky surface, and a cool breeze rustled the trees. The sweat dried on her face, and she started toward the bus at a crouch. This was one of those times where she was reminded of how tall and awkward she was; she felt exposed and vulnerable, and no matter how low she kept her head, she was convinced she stuck out like a neon sign.

Rocks dug into her soles and dry grass tickled her ankles. The bus was ahead and to the right, its windows reflecting the light of the moon. She scanned its length, looking for signs of Lincoln, but didn't see any. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was unobserved; camp was dark, still, and silent. An owl hooted off to her left, and her heart jumped into her throat. Heh. Nothing to worry about, just critters. That's country bumpkin slang for animals...like the kinds that come out at night. Raccoons, possums, mountain lions, Bigfoot, all teeth, claws, and no chill; you won't even know they're coming at you until it's too late.

Her heart slammed harder and she quickened her step; the back of her neck tingled and it was all she could do to keep from breaking out into a terrified run.

At the bus, she ducked behind the front end and peered once more into camp. No lights shone and nothing moved save for the stirring trees. There was something deeply unnatural about the scene, and after a moment, she realized what it was: Solitude. She lived in a housing project on a busy corner smack dab in the middle of the city. Even at 4am, there was activity: Cars on the street, people yelling and talking, sirens, horns, but out here, there was _nothing. _She could almost imagine everyone else in the world was dead, and she alone remained, kept company by only the crickets, moonlight, and the ghosts of the old world. In fact, if she listened really closely, the wind in the trees sounded kind of like voices…

A shiver went down her spine.

Keeping out of sight, she slunk to the folding doors along the side. They were closed, and for a moment she stared at them. How am I supposed to get in? Finally, seeing no other way, she inserted her fingers into the rubber seal between them and pulled. Her muscles strained and the doors came open with a soft _thunk_. Stale heat washed over her, and she hesitated; it was, uh, really dark in there, anything could be hiding, waiting, watching with hungry eyes…

Wow, dude, you're being really dumb.

Yeah, but...what if it's haunted?

Pfft, by what?

The skeleton that didn't get to go to camp.

Oh, shit, you're right, let's dip.

The only thing that stopped her was the promise of running her hands over Lincoln's body. Back in May, they didn't really take their time with each other. Boob touching lead to dick touching lead to full blown sex. It was actually kind of rushed; they were like two starving kids who sucked everything up off the table without even enjoying it. Over the past two months, that kind of bothered her. Like, it might sound corny, but she wanted to know every inch of him, from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head. She wanted to kiss him all over, feel him, taste him, bask in him.

Tonight, that's exactly what she intended to do, skeleton-ghost or no skeleton-ghost. She climbed on, closed the door behind her, and stepped into the aisle, her eyes dazzled by the total darkness. "Linc?" she hissed.

No reply.

She laid her hand on the closest seat and squinted in a futile attempt to see better. "Linc?"

Nada.

Guess he's not here.

She deflated a little. Sigh okay. Well, while I wait, I might as well check this place out. See what makes this the "friendship" bus. Maybe there were snacks and stuff; she could sure go for a fun sized bag of Doritos right about now...and an ice cold can of Coke. Nikki was a huge Cokehead. At home, she drank at least, like, five a day. Camp Rolling Hills was too "good" for Coke, though. She asked Angela yesterday, and she was like, _Soda is really bad for you, Nicole. Drink water instead. _She then proceeded to literally whip out a bottle of Deer Park and take a big, grateful drink.

Yeah. Water. Yum. Gotta love that bland, liquid cardboard taste.

Feeling her way along, Nikki shuffled blindly down the aisle, the leather seat backs dry and wrinkled under her hand. She checked every nook she passed in case Lincoln was setting up for an epic jumpscare, but she was alone.

Entirely. There was _nothing _on this bus. No snacks, no drinks - seriously, this is the "friendship" bus? More like the "slap in the face" bus. If she was going to give someone a bus, she'd stock it with cool stuff, like food, drinks, video games, a beanbag chair, oh, and a dope sound system.

At the back, she turned around and started down the aisle again. She was halfway to the front when the doors opened. Her heart came to a crashing halt and her body froze, crazily certain it would be Angela with her guitar and a stern expression on her narrow face. _Nikki, I fin-ally got you alone, now with my knife, Imma send you ho-oo-ome_. Lincoln's head appeared, and she relaxed.

I oughta scare him.

She looked around, and ducked into one of the seats. She got down on one knee in the space between it and the next one, and tensed her muscles. "Nikki?" he whispered.

Heheh, no Nikki here, Snowcoln, just the skeleton that missed out on summer camp.

"Nikki?"

He was closer, a note of uncertainty in his voice. His feet scraped the floor and Nikki grinned to herself. She could be kind of a dick sometimes.

Maybe she shouldn't do this.

Lincoln stopped in front of her, his face revealed in a dusty moonbeam falling through the windows. His cowlick stuck straight up like the heckles of a frightened cat, and his jaw was clenched. Scared, Snow Cap?

Sucking a deep breath, Nikki let out a high, otherworldly shriek and launched herself at him. He screamed and she tackled him like a tall, awkward football playing bird; they fell back onto one of the seats, Nikki on top, and the bus rocked slightly on its wheels. Lincoln stared up at her with wide, traumatized eyes, his breaths coming in quick bursts, then knitted his brow when he realized it was her.

"I'm the skeleton who didn't get to go to caaaaaaaamp," she said in deep, wavering voice.

Lincoln pressed his lips together to keep from smiling, but the corners of his mouth twitched anyway. For the first time, Nikki became aware of his body pinned flat beneath hers. The hem of her shirt rode up in the fall to bear her midriff, and Lincoln's crotch, warm and full, pressed into her stomach. Their faces were scant inches apart, his lips within kissing distance, and his ragged exhalations puffed against her face. Her hand rested over his heart, and she could feel its gentle pounding - from fear, excitement, or both.

She shifted her weight, between his legs now; his bulge pushed against her, and her heartbeat sped up. She grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands and, with a deliberate flourish, pulled his lips to hers. Tilting their heads, they kissed deeply, their tongues stroking and kneading with the languid ardor of young lovers with all night to spare. Lincoln slipped his arms around her hips and clutched her butt, and Nikki slid her hands under his shirt, the velveteen warmth of his flesh making them tremble. Their tongues swirled and their lips squelched as they kissed harder; Nikki grinded herself slowly against his erection, the sensation of his head brushing her middle sending ripples through her already rocking stomach.

Running his hands up and down her back, Lincoln dipped them into her shorts, the caress of his palms on her skin raking goosebumps up and down her body. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband, and she lifted up to allow him to push them down. Breaking from his lips, she reared back, reached behind her, and pulled them over ankles. Lincoln looked up at her with reverent eyes, and she blushed. "You're staring at me," she said around her smile.

"Because you're beautiful," he said. He soothed his hands up her hips, and she shuddered.

"No, I'm not," she said meekly.

"Yes you are," he replied. He pushed her shirt up, and crossing her arms over her chest in an X, she peeled it off, her hair falling around her face like summer wheat. She was entirely nude now, and something about being completely vulnerable - exposed to Lincoln in every way imaginable - made her heart slam. Lincoln's hands drifted up her flanks, his nails grazing her skin, and Nikki pressed her palms to his chest. She swiveled her hips in a lazy circular motion; his tent poked between her lips and prodded her tender center. Lincoln closed his hands around her tiny breasts and she sighed.

Throwing her head back, she arched her back to give him better access; he rolled and tweaked her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, his hips lifting and his dick grinding her folds. She bit her lower lip and undulated her body, lost in the feeling of friction; the fabric of his shorts brushed her clit, and her breath caught.

"Switch spots," he stammered.

Nikki looked down at him, and he licked his lips in a way that was both cute and obscene. Lust fogged her brain and blood roared against her temples like a tempestuous surf; hearing and mentally processing stuff was _kiiind _of hard atm. "What?"

"Switch spots with me," he said.

Oh.

That actually sounded fricking awesome.

She half stood and let him slip out, then laid back on the seat. Lincoln crawled up between her legs and braced his left arm above her head. He rested his right hand on the mound above her heart and stared lovingly down into her eyes. His gaze, gleaming with moonlight like the surface of the lake, held Nikki in a breathless thrall; in it, she saw an endless well of love, affection, and worship. In that moment, she did not doubt or dispute his assertion that she was beautiful, for reflected in his eyes, she was.

Lincoln cupped her cheek in his hand and skimmed this thumb across her cheek. Nikki ran her fingers through his hair and curled her stockinged feet possessively around his. He was hers...and she was not going to let him go. "I love you," she whispered. She did not realize she was going to say it until she spoke, but did not regret it; she _did _love him, in every meaning of the word.

"I love you too, Nikki," he replied without hesitation.

Her chest tingled with warmth, and Lincoln kissed her again, slower this time, his tongue making poignant love to hers and his hand caressing the side of her throat. He drew away from her lips and kissed her forehead, then her nose, making her wince. "What are you doing?" she laughed.

By way of answering, he kissed her mouth, then her chin; she tilted her head back and moaned at the feeling of his lips on her throat. He laid his hand on her thigh, dangerously close to her center, and kissed lower; between her breasts, her stomach, back to her breasts again. He wrapped his lips around her nipple the same moment he cradled her pussy in his hand, and Nikki's heart skipped a crazy beat. She let out a shivery breath and thrusted against his touch; his fingers clumsily ghosted her love bloated lips and his tongue sensually licked her aching nipple. He found her opening and lazily circled it, sending shudders racing through her. She bit her bottom lip to stifle her cries and rolled her eyes in bliss when he sank his middle finger into her. He gingerly explored her depths, her fluid oozing onto the back of his hand and coating her inner thighs.

Spitting her nipple out, he added his pointer finger and it stung in the most beautiful way Nikki had ever known. He pushed himself up on one arm and stared down at her pale, moon-drenched body in reverent wonder. Nikki laid her hands on her quivering stomach, closed her eyes, and bit her lower lip. Keen sensations ebbed and flowed through her chest, and her toes curled like the legs of a dying bug. Lincoln's fingers made a wet sucking sound as he increased his speed, and Nikki slipped her fingers into her hair and tugged hard as if to keep herself from tumbling over the edge. Her eyelids fluttered and a long moan escaped from between her teeth.

"Does this feel good?" he asked.

She nodded quickly and tired to say _umhm,_ but it came out as a garbled _ummmmm._ Her clit palpated like a beating heart and she swallowed around a lump in her throat. "Rub my clit," she said, "it's -"

To her surprise, his thumb went instantly and deftly to it. "There it is," she said in a rush, "have you been practicing on your sisters?"

Lincoln's face fell. "Ew, no! I, uh, I looked it up online, though."

"The internet has everything," she said. He pressed his thumb firmly against the nub of her arousal and made a slow counterclockwise motion, making her jump.

"Umhm," he said. He took her nipple into his mouth and suckled lightly, his thumb going faster and faster. Scalding lead swelled n Nikki's stomach and every atom in her body promised to go supernova. Her body yearned to be joined with his, her middle to be speared and filled and parted, their beings made whole and one as they danced together in the warm light of the North Woods moon.

"Stop," she whispered, "stop."

He looked up at her with a contrite expression, and holding his cheeks in her hands, she yanked his lips to hers and kissed him urgently, rolling onto her side to face him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he slipped his around her waist, his hand stroking up and down her back. She tore at his shirt and he paused to take it off, then his shorts; moonlight danced in his dark eyes and his rigid penis pressed against her stomach, so hot it seared her flesh. Holding each other close, as naked and untroubled as Adam and Eve in the garden, they kissed and ran their hands over each other's sweaty bodies. Condensation tinted the windows an opaque shade of white, and the heavy smell of mutual arousal hung heavy in the stagnant air. Nikki threw her leg over his hip and rubbed her crotch needily against his; his dick slid wetly through her folds like a hotdog through a bun. That visual made Nikki laugh into his mouth. She was starting to lose control, and though she didn't want this moment to end, she needed him inside of her.

Lincoln must have felt the same way, because he gently pushed her onto her back and took up position between her knees. She spread her legs, hooking one over the back of the seat, and taking his dick in his hand, Lincoln guided himself to her boiling pool of moisture. She watched him through matted bangs, a hazy, lopsided on her glistening lips. Lincoln situated himself, then thrust smoothly in; a long, breaking _ahhhhh_ ripped from Nikki's throat and she crossed her legs around him in an X. He bent over and his face hovered above hers, his eyes drunk and faraway. She hugged him to her bosom and dug her heels into his butt. "I missed this," she moaned.

"Me too," he said and kissed her neck. He drew back, then slammed deep into her; she let out a strangled yelp, like a stepped-on dog, and tightened her grip. Lincoln pulled back, his crowned head writing love letters on her walls, then sank himself back in, filling her to the point of bursting. Her pelvis strained and threatened to splinter, but despite the red stinging in her skull, she didn't care; she'd been dreaming of their coupling for two long months, and though it hurt, it was exquisite too.

She rubbed her hands over his back in wide, aimless circles, her nails scraping his skin and kneading his flexing shoulder blades. In the sultry light of the moon, his face was pallid and slick with perspiration; his chest rose and fell with rattling breaths and his butt cheeks clenched beneath her heels as he rocked mildly back and forth.

Nikki closed her eyes and parted her lips like a prayerful woman basking in divine love; messy strands of blonde stuck to her sweaty face and her features contorted in lovely shades of rapture. Her nails bit into his back and her thirsty passage molded tight around his shaft, their bodies working in sweet harmony; his expanding, hers contracting, the nectar of their excitement entwining until it was impossible to distinguish where one ended and the other began. Lincoln's knees slipped, and he drew himself up, his tip hitting a secret bundle of nerves and knocking Nikki off balance. She uttered a sharp, mewling cry and bit down on his shoulder; the salty taste of his skin filled her mouth and his shocked, breathy ejauclation broke hotly against her ear.

She released him and flopped her head back; his lips attacked the side of her neck with hungry kisses and his hips set a fast, desperate rhythm. Nikki held passively on, her face rippling and furrowing as his dick raked her walls, bringing her to the edge of cumming in only a few drives. He kissed her cheek, her pulse, her ear, his teeth nibbling her lobe and clamping hard when his head crashed into the back of her womb. He panted heavily, and through the smoke of her lust, Nikki could tell he was already close, but that was okay; so was she.

His movements slowed and his face clenched. His dick pulsed inside of her and he his lips pulled away from his teeth. He was trying to save himself from going over the edge, probably afraid to finish before her. Heh. All she needed was a little nudge and she'd be there.

Tensing her leg muscles, she threw her hips into his, and Lincoln gasped. His dick grew bigger, hotter, firmer, then he unloaded, shooting ribbons of rich, leaden sperm into her waiting stomach. Nikki's climax burst from the center of her femininity like a bomb and a scream locked in her throat. Lincoln shuddered, his dick still pumping, and she jerked spasmodically up and down, taking him deeper, then shoving him out; his final spurt landed at the top of her lips and promptly dribbled back into them.

Lincoln stretched out on top of her, and they hugged each other close, both sweating, quivery, and panting for air. "That was worth the wait," Nikki said dazedly.

"Yeah," Lincoln muttered, "it was."

He shifted off of her and they clung to each other, face to face, in a tangle of limbs. Like their commingled essence, even now drying to their wet loins, they were one, a single mass indivisible from itself. The drowsy warmth between them and the comfort of being in one another's arms lulled them both to the verge of sleep, and for a long time they skirted the edge of consciousness, neither able to tell if the touches and kisses they shared were real or imagined, and neither one caring. They were together, tacky skin sticking and breaths combining, and that was all that mattered.

At some point, Nikki must have fallen asleep, because she woke to Lincoln shaking her shoulder. "Hey." he said, "we gotta go, it's almost morning."

Her heart jumped and she sat up so fast her head spun. The moon was down and faint orange light colored the western sky. "Do you know what time it is?" she asked.

"No," Lincoln said, "late."

"Actually, it's early."

The day started at six. The light told her it wasn't much past five, which give them an hour to get back. Hopefully Angela didn't wake in the night and find her gone. If so, she was going to send her home. Cal Nikki crazy, but when Angela used that phrase - send you home - she got the impression she meant _home to Jesus_, as in murder.

Getting up, she looked around for her clothes. Her shorts sat in a heap on the floor, and bending over, she quickly pulled them on, followed by her shirt. Brushing her hair behind her ear, she turned and watched Lincoln as he pulled his own shirt on. His muscles, small but defined, rolled and clutched under his skin, and she bit her bottom lip. He looked at her, and she waggled her eyebrows. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Nope," she said, "you already did that."

He smirked knowingly and stood up. She put her arms around his neck and he took her hips in his hands. "Was it good?" he asked.

She bent over and kissed him. "Sure was. Better than Bigfoot."

"You had sex with Bigfoot?" he asked skeptically.

She took his hand and they started for the door. "Totally. Dude's a beast in bed. But so are you."

Lincoln snorted. "Okay. Well, I had sex with Mothwoman, how about that?"

Letting go of his hand, she pushed the doors, and they swung open with a shriek of rusted metal that was prohibitively loud in the preternatural predawn silence. A cool breeze washed over them, and Nikki realized just how hot she was. "Yeah? What was _she _like?"

"There was a light outside my bedroom window and she kept pulling away trying to get to it."

Nikki laughed. "You're stupid."

"I learned it from you."

"I know, I'm dumb too."

Hand-in-hand, they made their way down the hill toward camp, first along the road then cutting across the grass; cool morning dew soaked through Nikki's socks, and she winced at the way the fabric squicked between her toes. When they reached her cabin, they reluctantly pulled apart. Nikki held Lincoln's hands and brushed her thumbs over his knuckles. "I had a really nice time," she said because she didn't know what else to say.

"So did I," he said.

"I'll see you later?"

"Not if I see you first."

She bent down and they kissed, then he was gone, hurrying into the fading night. She looked after him, her stomach fluttering, and drew a deep sigh. On the bus, she told him she loved him, and she meant it with everything she had. Maybe it was too early in their relationship to say those three big words, but she did love him. Every time he walked away, he took a piece of her heart with him, and she was empty inside until he came back. She caught herself constantly thinking of him and smiling like a goofball and when he was around, she felt lighter than air. In all fairness, she had never been in love before - had never even been in _like_ \- so she wasn't exactly sure _how _it was supposed to feel...only that it had to be what she felt for Lincoln.

Letting out a dreamy sigh, she turned and looked apprehensively up at the dark facade of the cabin. Alright, now was the moment of truth, all or nothing; would she get away scot free, or would Angela be waiting with her arms crossed and her foot tapping? _Yo, where you was, Nicole? Why you smell like straight dick?_

Uh...why do _you _smell like straight dick?

She hunched defensively over and climbed the stairs, each creak of the wooden planks beneath her feet making her heart jog. At the door, she gripped the cool knob and pressed her ear to the splintered wood. She heard the roar of blood, like the surf in a seashell, but nothing else. She held her breath, slowly twisted the knob, and slipped in.

After being outside, it was hot, cramped, and dark in the cabin. She clicked the door shut behind her, waited a beat, then tip-toed to her bunk; the back of her neck tingled, and she was sure Angela would come down on her like a ton of lead, but she made it under the covers without incident.

Heh.

I got away with it.

Sick.

Snuggling deeper into the pillow, she closed her eyes, and was asleep in minutes.


	5. The Joys of Camp

Friday afternoon, Lincoln's fifth day at Camp Rolling Hills, he and the other boys were herded into the dining hall for what Kevin called "arts and crafts time." The tables were laden with pipe cleaners, markers, glue, and more junk that he didn't feel like naming and each camper was given an hour to make something, be it a work of art, a friendship bracelet, or a bird house. Thad, sitting on Lincoln's right, built a six inch by six inch box out of popsicle sticks, his fingers surprisingly nimble; he had the void, sleepy eyes of a dullard, but he worked with expert precision, and when he was done, Lincoln was impressed by its craftsmanship. "What's that?" Lincoln curiously asked and nodded at it. If he had to guess, he'd say it was a jewelry box for his mother or grandmother.

"A McDonald's," Thad replied. "I really miss those."

Oh.

Lincoln made a picture frame for his parents out of balsa wood (balsa wood is awesome). He decorated it with foam hearts, smiley faces, and words spelling out FAMALY. It looked kind of girly, but they'd like it, so no harm, no foul. By the time he was done, his bladder twinged, and he asked Kevin if he could go to the bathroom.

Camp Rolling Hills' lavatories were housed in an outbuilding composed of element-scoured cinderblocks. Inside, the floor was concrete and always wet, like a cave. Shower stalls lined one wall, and a mix of urinals and toilets the other. Wads of toilet tissue, balled up paper towels, discarded clothing, and cigarette butts littered the ground. That last one gave Lincoln pause. Uh, was someone smoking in here? That's a good way to get sent home.

He went to one of the urinals, peed, then crossed to bank of cracked sinks beneath the mirror. He turned the faucet on and washed his hands. He cut the spray, grabbed a paper towel, and looked into the mirror.

His heart sank.

Chandler's reflection grinned evilly, and Lincoln whipped around so quickly he almost toppled over. "Hey, Loud," Chandler said in that low, sleepy voice of his, "how's it hanging?"

He stood between Lincoln and the door, his hands on his hips and a malicious twinkle in his dark eyes. Lincoln looked around for some means of escape, but none presented itself; it he ran for the exit, he'd have to duck around Chandler to do it, and Chandler, being bigger, stronger, and faster would take him down in seconds. The only thing he could do was play along and pray to God the older boy was in a merciful mood. "Uh, great," he said and flashed a fake smile, "it's h-hanging great."

"Glad to hear it," Chandler said. "You liking camp?"

Lincoln swallowed. Chandler was up to something, and his mind raced with a thousand terrible possibilities. Lincoln had known him since kindergarten - like six or seven years - and he'd always delighted in the pain and suffering of others. Sometimes he cut to the chase and called you mean names or hit you, but other times, he toyed with you like a sadistic cat with a wounded mouse. This, he realized, was one of the latter occasions.

"Yeah, yeah, camp is great."

"I see you got a girlfriend."

He advanced, and Lincoln cringed. Instead of tearing him apart, however, he went to the next sink over and turned it on. "She's hot." Chandler said and filled one palm with soap from the wall mounted dispenser.

"Thanks," Lincoln said uncomfortably. He went back to the other day, Chandler sitting with Nikki, then getting up and leaving when she ignored him.

Chandler held his hands under the spray and rubbed them vigorously together. "Yep," he mused, "I dunno what she wants with a dork like you, but...there's no accounting for taste."

"Nope," Lincoln said nervously. He flicked his eyes to the door again and considered rushing out, but that might make Chandler mad, and making Chandler mad was a trash idea. He'd done it before and it never ended well.

Cutting the water, Chandler grabbed a paper towel and dried his hands. He crumpled the wad and tossed it over his shoulder; it landed in a puddle of water and began to saturate, darkness spreading across it like the coming of night. "Guess there really _is _someone for everyone," Chandler said. He brushed past Lincoln and started for the door, and Lincoln let out a sigh of relief.

At the last minute, though, Chandler turned back around, and Lincoln's soaring hope crashed back to earth in a ball of flames. "You wouldn't mind sharing her, would you?"

Lincoln's stomach knotted, and a cold, reptilian smile spread across Chandler's lips, revealing teeth that were too big, too perfect, somehow too sharp. "S-Share?"

"Yeah, share." Chandler came forward, and Lincoln recoiled. He laid his hand on Lincoln's shoulder and squeezed hard, making Lincoln gasp. "You know...you have a girlfriend and _I _don't," Chandler said in a faux petulant tone. "That's not really fair, now is it? You -" here he jammed his index finger into Lincoln's chest - "are a giant dork, and _I_ -" he jabbed his thumb into his own chest - "am a Chad. It's not right that you have a girl while I don't, so I think you should share her."

Lincoln's head spun as he tried to grasp what Chandler was saying. Was he being serious, or was he messing with him? The glint in his eye and the wicked curl of his lips told him that whether Chandler was being serious or not, he was enjoying watching him squirm. He swallowed and searched for the most diplomatic way to say no. "Uh, I don't think Nikki would…" the shaky, coward-like quality of his voice sickened him. He summoned all the courage he could muster an said, "No. I'm not sharing with girlfriend with you."

The cold grin on Chandler's face did not falter; he looked like he was fully expecting this, and honestly didn't care. He hung his head in an exaggerated display of contrition and shook it slowly back and forth, as if disappointed. He clamped down on Lincoln's shoulder and bolts of pain shot into the middle of Lincoln's head. "Wrong answer, buddy," Chandler said.

Quick as lightning, he smashed his fist into Lincoln's stomach, knocking the air from his lungs and driving him to his knees. Apocalyptic agony gripped his middle and the edges of his vision tinged with gray. Pain swelled in his skull, and he hugged himself and hissed through his teeth. Chandler got down on one knee and laid an icy hand on his shoulder. "You're a real piece of shit, you know that, Loud?"

He tsked and shook his head. "I oughta break your face for that, but I'm in a good mood so I'll let you live." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "For now."

Patting Lincoln's shoulder, he got to his feet and looked down at him with the mild distaste of a man who just stepped in gum. He shook his head, turned, and walked away, leaving Lincoln alone on the floor. His stomach ached monstrously and he felt like he was going to throw up. He took a deep, shivery breath and drew himself to a standing position. Bent over and limping, he made his way back to the dining hall.

* * *

"I hope you girls are ready to get out there and have lots of fun," Angela said. "It's not whether you win the game, it's how you _play _it." She nodded soberly and tapped her forehead like that black dude in the meme (_can't get robbed if you spent all your money at the strip club_).

It was late Friday morning and the two girls' cabins, 2A and 2B (yo, wasn't that a famous quote or something?) were slated to face off in a sack race. Nikki had no idea what a sack race was, but apparently you got in a big burlap bag and hopped around like a rabbit? Sounded dumb but okay. When in Rome do Rome stuff, right?

Angela stood in front of the door, her guitar mercifully shelved for the day. Hot, golden sunshine saturated the room like liquid fire and sweat trickled down the back of Nikki's neck. She sat on the edge of her bunk with her hands balled between her knees, Kristy on one side and a girl named Sarah whose long face and big nose lent her the appearance of a horse on the other. The other girls were strewn around the cabin in varying states of indifference: Becky lay draped across her bed, her head hanging over the side; one girl lay on the floor with her knees drawn up; and Julie sat with her legs crossed and filed her nails, her raised brows suggesting she heard what Angela was saying and disapproved.

"I'm ready to have fun," Kristy piped up.

Turning to her, Angela flashed a big smile and pointed like a woman to a kindred spirit. "See? She's ready. How about you, Nicole?"

"Yeah," Nikki said to her lap and nodded, "always ready for some fun."

Julie snorted, and Nikki glanced up at her. She stared down at the back of her hand and sawed the file across the tips of her nails. A blue hairband held her chestnut tresses back from her forehead - it was actually more like a five head - and her shirt tail was tied off to reveal her midriff, putting Nikki in mind of a gay man.

What was _that _about? What, was it supposed to be an insult? Nikki was street smart and all, but she wasn't well versed in shade, passive-aggression, and subtly. Her neighborhood was rough, yeah, but people treated each other with respect unless they wanted to throw hands. Girls like Julie came from a world where you could get away with being a snotty bitch, because everyone was weak or into saving face or something. In Nikki's world, that kind of thing earned you an asswhipping.

"Well, come on, then," Angela said and turned, "fun awaits!"

Five minutes later, Nikki stood on the edge of a grassy field on the far side of the infirmary with Kristy and several other girls while Angela helped Becky into a burlap sack. Beside her, a girl from the other cabin waited for the race to begin, a competitive scowl on her face. On the other side of the meadow, girls from 2B milled on the sidelines, talking and laughing. Nikki slipped her hands into her back pockets and bent slightly forward; she slept wrong last night and her spine felt mad stiff. Off to the right, Julie stood between Kira and some other girl with her arms crossed and a put upon expression written across her haughty little face. Nikki once referred to it as "punchable" and it's punchability increased with every passing day. By the time camp was over, even Jesus himself would be hard pressed to keep from stealing her in the jaw.

"Ever been in a sack race before?" Kristy asked.

Nikki regarded her feet and shook her head. "Nah. You?"

"Yep. The trick is to not get tangled up and fall down."

Word? I had no idea. I thought it was to hit the ground harder than your opponent and lose more teeth. The one who doesn't reach the finish line because she's too injured wins; in which case, she had this on lock. Otherwise, she was probably going to crash and burn. Remember, she had long, springy, gangly legs, and sometimes using them on their own was kind of hard, much less when they were tangled up in burlap. "Sounds real fun," she said.

"It is," Kristy said. "Remember last year?"

Sarah, standing on Nikki's other side and gazing across the field, nodded. "Yeah, that girl who wiped out?"

Kristy laughed. "Yep."

They both giggled, and Nikki was lost. One thing she didn't like about being around the frequent campers who came back every year was being out of their loop. They talked about things and people that Nikki didn't know, and it made her feel the way she imagined it felt to be surrounded by speakers of a whole different language. "What happened?" she asked.

Angela stepped back, and the two girls tensed, readying themselves for the metaphorical starting gun.

"This girl got twisted up in her bag and fell down," Kristy said.

"When she crawled out," Sarah said, "her shorts were gone."

"And her underwear."

Nikki missed a beat. "Gone?"

Kristy nodded. "Yeah, they slid off or something. Everyone saw her bush."

The blood flowing through Nikki's veins turned to ice water. "Really?"

"Yep. She was so humiliated she cried, then called her parents to come pick her up."

She and Sarah both laughed. Man, that's kind of screwed up.

And scary.

What if that happened to her?

She pictured herself face planting, then standing up entirely naked. Everyone standing around (and I mean everyone, even her grandmother was there) started laughing and jeering. Juile pointed, Becky slapped her knee, Sarah brayed like a horse, and Angela whipped out her guitar. _Nicole...I can see your hole...and your little tiny boobies too...you're blushing and a laughingstock, I feel so bad for you._

Oh, _hell _naw. Nikki wasn't overly self-conscious about her body or anything, but that was horrifying, and she decided right then and there that she was _not _getting in one of those death bags. Screw _that_.

The race was underway now, both girls hopping toward the finish line and their respective cabins cheering them on. Becky jumped ahead, then the other girl, then Becky again. Kristy pumped her fist in the air and Sarah clapped her hands. Nikki looked on, anticipating the strike of disaster. Angela, hands cupped to her mouth, screamed encouraging motivational poster slogans and walked backwards, bumping into Nikki. She turned and favored Nikki with a big, psychotic grin. "This is fun, huh?"

"Straight up," Nikki lied.

Angela put her hands on her hips, surveyed the field, and nodded proudly to herself, as though she were the architect and sole engineer of everything before her. _Feast your eyes, Nikki. See this glorious day? I made it for thee, hark. _"You can be next."

Nikki's stomach dropped. "Uh...actually, I don't really want -"

Twitching her neck around with an almost audible creak, Angela fixed Nikki with a wide, challenging smile, and Nikki trailed off. "My stomach hurts," she blurted. "I think I gotta go. A lot. Can I please go to the bathroom?"

The older woman's features softened, but only a little. She pressed her palm to Nikki's forehead; her skin was dry and clammy, and Nikki was kiiiind of revolted. "Are you sick?" she asked.

Yes, of the sack race. "Nah, I just gotta poop."

In a bid to _really _sell the lie, Nikki pressed her hand to her stomach and grimaced.

"Alright," Angela said grudgingly, "but hurry back or you'll miss all the fun."

"I'll try."

She brushed past Angela and started toward the bathroom at a power walk, but slowed so she didn't look too spry; she was supposed to be sick, after all. The infirmary peeked out from a grove of wavering trees in the distance, and to her right, the lake sparkled in the sunlight like liquid treasure (arrr, me hearties, ahoy). A group of boys tossed a Frisbee back and forth; one ran for it, jumped, and snatched it from the air with animal-like grace. She scanned their faces for Lincoln, didn't see him, and sighed. Since they were together in the bus three days ago (or was it four?), she'd only seen him at dinner and the nightly campfire. That was way, way less than the daily recommended Lincoln intake, and it was starting to get to her. She didn't care about sack races and all that other crap, she cared about spending time with the boy she loved.

Not being able to do it was like slowly starving to death, only instead of her body withering away, it was her heart. Cheesier than a plateful of nachos, but true. Separation from Lincoln was like separation from oxygen, and if she didn't get a lungful of that sweet, sweet Linc20 soon, she'd fall out dead.

She was almost to the infirmary when someone called out. She looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. That Chandler dude approached at a jog, his lank reddish brown hair rustling. What did _he _want?

He reached her, bent over, and clasped his hands to his knees. "You're fast," he panted, and inexplicably, Nikki thought he was faking.

"Yeah, long legs," she said and started walking. He hurried to match her pace, and the only reason she didn't speed up was because she didn't want to be _too _rude. It's not like he'd done anything to her, though, c'mon, she wasn't dumb and didn't buy that _camp is for making friends _crap. She didn't have too hard a life, but she wasn't a sheltered middle class snowflake either; she'd seen enouugh of people and the world to be a pretty good judge of character., and everything about Chandler screamed _douchebag._

In the corner of her eye, he glanced down at her legs, and his eyes lingered just a little too long to be innocent. "Yeah, you are kind of tall," he said, then hastened to add, "I mean, in a good way. Being tall's pretty cool."

"I can reach the cabinets in my house," she remarked dryly.

Chandler snickered. "I still have to use a chair sometimes."

She looked at him full on. He _was _kinda short, even compared to people who _weren't _freakishly tall. "Sucks for you," she said.

They were passing in front of the infirmary, wooden steps leading up to an uncovered porch. Pine branches blocked most of the sunlight and cast it in shade. The bathrooms were ahead and to the right, the cinder block walls splashed with golden light. "Yeah, it does," Chandler said, "sometimes." He was quiet for a moment, then said, "you're friends with Loud, right?"

"He's my boyfriend," Nikki said pointedly, proud and happy despite herself.

Chandler nodded. "Yeah, he's a cool guy. I go to school with him. It's a shame how some people do him, you know?"

Some people.

Like you?

"Do people pick on him?" she asked, honestly curious. They hadn't really gotten around to the subject of their school lives yet. She knew he was tight with a dude named Clyde and that he hated math and English (sorry, Linc, your spelling's worse than mine), but beyond that, she didn't know.

"Yeah, some of them," Chandler said, "I mean, I guess I can understand why, you know, with that video."

Nikki cocked her head. "Video?"

"Yeah," Chandler said, "there was a contest, whoever's video got the most hits won, I dunno, something like that. He uploaded this video of him kissing on a picture of our classmate Cristina. It was really creepy."

Nikki laughed in the back of her throat. He actually told her about that. Cristina changed classes because she was so weirded out. "Eh," she said and shrugged.

"Then the bathroom thing."

Okay, she hadn't heard that one. "What happened?"

"They caught him peeping through a hole in the wall and pounding his meat," Chandler said, and shook his head. "He also stole a girl's gym bag once. They found him sniffing her panties."

There was a little gleam in his eye that told her he was lying.

"I doubt that happened," she said.

"Nah, it's true, I swear. He's a good dude, but he has a lot of problems. I hear his uncle molested him and now he molests his little sisters."

Anger rose up from Nikki's stomach, and her jaw clenched. She didn't know Chandler very well, but she knew Lincoln, and that sister shit pissed her off. Lincoln was a kind, loving, considerate guy, and he would _never _hurt anyone, much less one of his younger sisters. "Yeah, well, you heard wrong," she said tightly, "he's not like that."

"I'm not saying he _is_," Chandler quickly replied, "you're just, you know...a pretty girl and I want you to know what kind of guy he is. For your own safety."

She stopped and looked at him, and he smirked widely; she got the feeling it was supposed to be a warm, friendly smile, but it was slimy and cold instead.

"Mind your own business and don't worry about me."

A shadow flickered across Chandler's face, then it was gone. "Hey, alright, sorry, I just thought you should know. Loud's kind of a pervert."

"And you're kind of a dickhead," Nikki shot back.

His features darkened. "If worrying about someone being victimized makes me a dickhead, then yeah, I'm a dickhead."

"No, being a nosy ass douchebag makes you a dickhead."

He smiled tightly. "If that's what you think."

"Yeah, it _is _what I think."

She turned and started to walk again, and Chandler followed like a case of herpes. Ugh, couldn't he take a hint? "What do you want with a dork like him, anyway? You could do a lot better."

"Leave me alone," she said.

"C'mon," he said, "give me a try and you might change your mind."

"I won't."

"Yes you will."

With that, he reached out and cupped her buttcheek.

Before she knew what she was doing, Nikki wheeled around and lashed out, her open hand smashing into the side of Chandler's face with a crisp, meaty _thwack! _He stumbled back, and his feet tangled, sending him to the ground in a puff of dust. He held his cheek and looked up at her in a mixture of shock and hurt. "Don't touch me, loser," Nikki spat.

She turned on her heels and marched off, her hands balled into fists and rage burning in the middle of her chest. Chandler gaped after her...then glared. He picked himself off, dusted the back of his shorts, and sneered at Nikki's retreating back. He started to go after her, intent on beating her ugly face in, but stopped and took a deep breath. Who the hell did she think she was?

Icy hatred flooded the pit of his stomach and he looked around to make sure no one saw what happened. The day was alone, thankfully; he could handle a lot of things, but humiliation was not one of them.

Whether anyone knew or not, he did, and both his pride and ego cried out for vengeance.

As he walked back to the field, his face stinging and his ears ringing, his mind began to work.

He would make her pay for that.

He would make her pay _dearly_.

* * *

Nikki was still fuming when she came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later. After peeing, she sat in one of the stalls with her hands in her lap and waited for Angela to come looking for her. She didn't, but boredom did. As much as she didn't want to climb into a sack and come out balls naked, she didn't want to sit there twiddling her thumbs even more.

Maybe she'd kill some time by walking around. She rounded the corner of the building and came to a screeching halt when Lincoln emerged from the boys room drying his hands on a paper towel. He balled it, tossed it over his shoulder, and started toward his cabin. "Yo!"

He stopped, shot her a guarded look, and relaxed. "Hey," he said and walked over. Nikki's heart rate increased and her stomach tingled - both of which happened every time she saw him.

"Hey," she replied. She was vaguely aware that she was blushing and weak in the knees, but didn't care. He stopped in front of her, and Nikki looked quickly around. Seeing no one, she leaned in and they shared a brief, furtive kiss. "What'cha up to?"

Lincoln sighed. "Archery."

"Oh, like bows and arrows and stuff? That sounds fun."

He rubbed the back of his neck and scuffed his feet. "Yeah, they're a lot harder to work than you might think. It takes a lot of upper body strength. Which I don't have."

His embarrassment was cute, and Nikki giggled. "I don't either, so it's all good." They stared down at their feet for a moment, then Nikki grinned. "Wanna make out?"

Lincoln's face lit up. "Uh, yeah!"

Bending over to reach his lips, Nikki smiled, raked her nails through his hair, and kissed him , slower than before. Lincoln cupped her face in his hands and kissed back, his tongue licking and kneading hers. Her knees gave out, and she nearly fell. "Did you feel the earth move?" she asked.

"Yes," he said and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs.

Walking backwards, she leaned against the wall, and Lincoln kissed her again, his hands brushing down her hips and making her quiver. He slipped them up the front of her shirt and closed them around her bare breasts, and she gasped into his mouth. He tweaked her nipples and the crotch of her panties dampened.

Making out with Lincoln was a bad idea, for like an alcoholic with a bottle of hooch, she could never have just a little bit; she needed all of it, and wouldn't stop until she was passed out on the floor.

Breaking from his lips, she threw her head back, and Lincoln lifted up on his tippy toes to kiss her neck.

When someone gasped loudly, they jumped and pulled apart. "Nicole and white hair boy!"

Angela loomed over them with her hands on her hips; her jaw was clenched, her nostrils flared, and her eyes seethed with outrage. Nikki's heart dropped into her stomach and her knees were weak now for a different reason.

"Seriously?" Angela demanded and threw her hand up. "You lied to me to come...come...kiss a boy?" Her face crinkled on the word _kiss _as though the act of kissing were obscene and disgusting. "That's it, I'm sending the both of you home."

"No!" Nikki and Lincoln cried in unison. If they were sent home, they wouldn't be able to see each other, and if they couldn't see each other, Nikki would go crazy. She might not get to hang out with him often here, but she still saw him a lot more at Camp Rolling Hills than she did elsewhere, and she was kind of getting used to it.

Angela folded her arms over her chest and looked between them, from Nikki to Lincoln and back again. She pursed her lips and sniffed. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

Nikki and Lincoln looked at each other. _What should we say? _His eyes asked.

_I dunno, _hers replied, _we gotta say something, though._

"Well?"

She couldn't appeal to Angela's heart (_I really love my bf, please_), she was too obsessed with camp for -

It hit her.

"Because we really love camp," she said. "It means everything to us. The marshmallows, the crackling fires, the, uh, unity and...sense of belonging."

Lincoln didn't say anything, and Nikki nudged him with her elbow. "Yeah," he said, "I've had a lot of fun and I've learned so much new stuff."

"Our hormones got the better of us," Nikki said, "and we're really sorry. Please don't make us leave. I couldn't stand to not be here for all the activities. It'd be, uh, really lame."

She stared at the ground, too scared to look at Angela's face; there was no way in hell she was buying this. Taking a deep breath and already mentally composing an excuse to her mother (uh...girls will be girls?), she lifted her head.

And knitted her brows.

Tears shimmered in Angela's eyes and spilled down her cheeks like drops of silver. She covered her trembling lips with her hand and squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to get a hold of herself. Nikki looked at Lincoln, and his forehead wrinkled bemusedly. He gestured to Angela (what's _her _deal?), and Nikki shrugged.

Composed, Angela let her hand drop and took a deep, calming breath. "What kind of monster would I be if I deprived two children the joys of summer camp? Camp is the greatest place on earth, and I couldn't live with myself knowing I denied you it. I won't send you home."

Nikki sighed in relief.

Whew.

"But you're still in deep doo doo, young lady." Angela jabbed her finger at Nikki, and Nikki flinched. "No campfire for you tonight."

What? That was one of the only times she got to see Lincoln! "No, please, I swear -"

"My mind is made up," Angela said. She whipped her gaze to Lincoln, and he went rigid with terror. "Make like a tree and leave." She pointed, and giving a jerky nod, Lincoln turned and rushed off.

Snap, beaver dammed _again_.

"Boys are nothing but trouble," Angela groused as they made their way back to the field. Nikki had heard the expression 'blue balls' before - the painful and soul sapping state of sexual frustration caused by being interrupted during peak arousal - but she never knew there was a female equivalent until now.

And it _sucked._


	6. Into the Woods

**Lyrics to **_**Step Off **_**by Melle Mel and the Furious Five (1984)**

For over a week, Chandler plotted.

During the day, he smiled, laughed, and picked on weaker kids as he'd always done, but beneath his unaffected facade, he seethed with rage. At night, lying awake in his bunk and struggling to sleep, he replayed the indignity of Nikki slapping him again and again. For two days, he walked around with a giant red handprint on his face, and everyone commented on it. Ricky laughed when he saw it, and Chandler punched him in the shoulder; Poppa Wheelie, no longer swollen and now able to speak, asked him what it was, and he responded by slapping him in the back of the head. "Don't worry about it," he said. By the second day, he was flushed with shame and so embarrassed he pretended to be sick so he wouldn't have to leave the cabin.

He didn't want Nikki, but the more he pondered her rejection, the more it ate at him. He was handsome, charismatic, the perfect man, but she resoundingly turned him down, like he was garbage.

Not only did she turn him down...she turned him down for that faggot Loud, the weak, white haired, freckle faced geek who still slept with a stuffed rabbit. It wasn't fair, she should have jumped at the chance to be with him; he was infinitely better than Loud, and you didn't need to be a rocket scientist to see it.

Chandler wouldn't confess this out loud, but what other people thought of him _mattered_, and even one girl thinking another boy was superior weighed heavy on his mind...because maybe it meant that he wasn't as good as he thought.

That was crazy, though, he _was _good - certainly better than any other boy at Camp Rolling Hills.

Right?

Self-doubt plagued him for three days, building like pressure in a boiler until he couldn't sleep or sit still. His hatred for Nikki, and Lincoln, grew, and by Monday afternoon, he stewed in it, his every thought one of revenge. That evening at the fire, he sat between Ricky and Poppa Wheelie and stared deeply into the heart of the flames, his jaw tight, his eyes reflecting the gleam of hellish light. Nikki and Lincoln were down and across from him. One minute they were talking and holding hands, and the next Angela was sitting between them and strumming her way through yet another encore of Kumbaya; Chandler took savage satisfaction in how stiff and uncomfortable they were. Oooh, they were lucky. If it was just him and them, he'd throw Loud into the fire and...he wasn't quite sure what he would do with Nikki. Hurt her the way she hurt him, humiliate her ten times worse than she humiliated him.

His nails bit so hard into the padding of his palms that they left little bloody crescents and his teeth ground. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. His eyes, however, were inexorably drawn to their faces, and he balled his fists. He imagined smashing Loud in the nose, the gratifying vibration of impact running up his arm and shattered bone scraping his knuckles. He saw himself hitting the little creep again and again and again, spilling blood, breaking teeth, unleashing a torrent of wrath and retribution all while Nikki watched helplessly from the sidelines. In his vision, she lay prostrate on the ground, sobbing desolately and shaking her head as if in denial of the brutal fate befalling her precious little boyfriend.

When he was done, Loud lay crumpled in the dust, blood leaking from his mouth and nose. He turned to Nikki, and terror clouded her eyes. She wasn't so high and mighty now; she shook, wept, and tried to crawl away, but he stooped down, snatched her by the back of her shirt, and dragged her back. He kicked her in her side, then her stomach, then, finally her face.

Only it wasn't enough. He didn't just want to hurt her, he wanted to degrade her, embarrass her, make her eternally sorry for what she did to him.

Later that night, as everyone else slept, he lay in his bunk with his hands laced over his chest and wracked his mind for a suitable punishment. None were fitting enough - she not only slapped and insulted him, she made him doubt himself, and that an offense grave enough to warrant the absolute harshest penalty he could give her.

He was still trying to come up with one when he went to sleep, and when he woke the next morning. At breakfast, he glared at her from across the room as she ate her bacon and eggs, willing her to look up and see his fury. She finished without so much as a single glance in his direction (like he didn't even exist!), got up, and left with the rest of her cabin, those long, skinny legs taking big, flexing steps. He hated himself for thinking this, but they _were _nice. Smooth, silken, and shapely, her flesh a light shade of sun kissed brown. He pillaged them with his eyes, his gaze travelling up to her tight, clenching butt; the canvas fabric of her shorts clung tight to her wiggling cheeks like a second skin, and the outline of her cleft was painfully visible. Was she even wearing panties? He leaned over the table and squinted his eyes; he couldn't tell, but he didn't think she was.

He visualized himself sliding her shorts down her full rear and running his hands up and down her flanks, and his loins stirred. He saw his sperm thick and white on her flesh and he licked his chops like a hungry dog.

Something devious clicked inside his head, and in a flash, he finally knew what he was going to do.

When and how, though?

For the rest of the week, he turned his idea over and over again in his head, examining it from every side looking for weak spots and fixing them one at a time. There were field days on both Saturday and Sunday, and on Monday morning, all the campers would load into the buses for the trip home. If he was going to strike, it would have to be over the weekend; field days were always a confusion of unregulated activity, and even Angela loosened up enough that she could easily overlook one of her girls vanishing.

How would he cause said disappearance, though? He had to be careful. He was angry and hurt, but he couldn't that cloud his judgement; this was serious, and if he got caught, he'd be in major trouble.

For an entire day, he meditated on his dilemma. At that evening's campfire, he perched on the edge of a ragged stump and gazed ino the fire, letting its heat and low, lulling crackle work on his tense mind. Every time he started to drift, Katie's high, stupid giggling shattered the spell and yanked him rudely back. She sat next to Poppa Wheelie with her fingers twinned through his and a hazy look in her eyes that mystified and angered Chandler. She looked at Poppa Wheelie the same way Nikki looked at Loud, and like with Nikki and Loud, he had no clue what she saw in him. If you asked him, Poppa was just as bad as Loud; short, fat, husky voice and perpetually flushed cheeks, he was a Loser with a capital 'L'. Katie wasn't a catch herself, with her pimples, muffin top, and freckles (Jesus, there were so many), but still too good for Poppa. Any girl was too good for guys like Loud and Poppa, even the fat ones.

Katie should be his, just like Nikki should be his, but she wasn't; from the shimmer in her eyes, she was Poppa's and would do anything he want -

It hit him, and a sinister smile slithered across his lips. That night before lights out, he sat in the middle of his bed and wrote three letters, the final one to his parents. He told them he was doing well and having "a blast." He'd been coming to Camp Rolling Hills every summer for four years, and he never wrote them more than two letters. This was his vacation, after all, plus, he knew that it bothered them, or at least his mother. She implored him to write more often, and while he promised to each time he came home, he never had the slightest intention to follow through. During the rest of the year, they rarely had time for him - dad with board meetings and business trips out of town and mom with her cocktail parties - so he was just repaying the favor.

He folded two of the letters and called Poppa Wheelie over. "I need you to do something for me," he said.

"W-What?" Poppa asked.

Chandler told him, and he creased his brow in confusion. "Why?"

"Don't worry about it, fat boy," Chandler spat.

He stuck the letters under his pillow and left them there until he needed them again.

Saturday morning crested clear and warm, tepid orange light spreading across the still surface of the lake and creeping across the misty ground in stalks of suffusion. Shadows scattered to the forest and nestled among the trees like vampires forced into hiding by the advent of dawn. Chandler was up before the others, his middle knotted with an uncharacteristic combination of dread and anticipation. Normally, his emotions were flat, muted, like muffled sounds, but this was vivid and keen; he couldn't say whether he liked it or not, but it was certainly different, and therefore interesting at least.

Shortly, the others began to wake, and the day began. At breakfast, he ate hard bacon and underdone scrambled eggs and furtively watched Loud from across the room. The white haired boy sat with his loser friends - the fatass, the nerd, the nig - smiling and chatting like he didn't have a care in the world. Chandler's hatred flared and heat spread across the back of his neck. The set of Loud's eyes, his pert, faggy nose, his teeth, even his stupid cowlick filled Chandler with a loathing that was darker and stronger than it had any right to be. At one point, he had to force his gaze away because he was starting to tremble.

Soon, he told himself.

Soon, Lincoln and Nikki would pay.

* * *

Late Saturday morning, Nikki carried a cardboard box full of sports equipment from the storeroom behind the dining hall and brought it to the field off the infirmary. People buzzed back and forth around her like ants over a dirt mound. Kristy, hefting a plastic tote with a cracked lid, walked beside her, a spring in her step. The field, once empty save for butterflies, was dotted with concession stands, game booths, and folding tables. Orange, green, and yellow extension cords crisscrossed the ground like veins in a body, and kids from all the cabins were at work on various tasks, some setting up tables and chairs, others bringing in supplies.

When Kristy first mentioned "the big field day" Nikki figured it'd be something wack like tag and horseshoes, and was kind of shocked when she woke up and saw all of the booths and stuff. It looked like one of those pop carnivals that occasionally set up in the Wal-Mart parking lot near her neighborhood, only without the rides. There was going to be food, a clown, games, contests, a talent show, prizes, it was gonna be straight sick.

A light, easy festival atmosphere held sway, everyone happy and excited, and Nikki couldn't lie, she was pretty amped.

She reached one of the folding tables, sat the box on at random, and leaned against it. Her arms quivered, sweat coated her face, and her lower back ached. She and Kristy had been helping out all morning (because Kristy so kindly volunteered them) and all this lugging stuff around was starting to take a toll on her body. She was a girl with underformed girl muscles, they should really have the guys doing this.

Kristy set the tote on the ground and stood up straight. "I guess we can just leave this stuff here," she said uncertainly.

Angela, who was currently MIA, told them to bring the stuff over but didn't say where to put it, so right here was as good a place as any. Nikki started to say that but trailed off when a massive shadow fell over her. She turned, and what she saw made her stumble back against the table and Kristy let out a sharp _eep_ of surprise. A massive, seven foot tall dinosaur with big sunglasses and a red white bandanna tied around its forehead Tupac style blotted out the sky, its skin a light greenish blue that shimmered in the sun. Its jagged maw seemed to part slightly in a show of contempt, and Nikki fisted her hands defensively to her chest, sure she was about to be ripped asunder and devoured right here.

When he spoke, she realized it was a man in a suit. Heh. Of course it was. Why would she ever think different? "Yo, this my table."

Kristy gaped up at him, then shook her head like a woman coming awake from a fugue. "Uh. d-do you want us to move the stuff?" she stammered. "W-We can."

"Yeah, I want it moved. This my table, nigga."

"Uh, sure." She picked up the tote and scurried away.

He turned to Nikki, who hadn't moved, and looked her up and down. "You gon' move that box off my shit?" he asked.

Nikki regarded him for a bemused moment, then turned and grabbed the box. He crossed his arms and watched her carry it away, an impossibly smug expression on his face. Then, he reached into a hitherto unseen pocket, removed a piece of paper, and taped it to the front of the table. DINO'S FACE PAINTING, DOIN' IT URBAN UP IN HERRE. Uhh...okay then, I don't see why the face painting dude needs to wear a dinosaur suit, but whatever.

She looked around and spotted Kristy standing at a table with her arms crossed. On the other side, Kevin knelt and took plastic cups from a box then stacked them in a pyramid. He said something and Kristy giggled airly. Most of the girls had a _major _crush on Kevin and talked about him before lights out, whispering his name in low, reverent tones and blushing crazily like, uh, girls. Nikki couldn't lie, dude was handsome, but he wasn't Lincoln, and though there were probably guys who looked objectively better than him, she was into _him _and no one else.

Funny how love works, huh? Like...he wasn't perfect, and he probably had a ton of flaws and bad habits just like anyone else, but none of that mattered. There was something about him that clicked with her and that was that. A lot of people forget that love isn't about looks or wealth or any of that other superficial crap, it's about fitting together, you know? Like puzzle pieces. That was a really basic analogy, but it's the one she kept coming back to.

Shifting the box in her arms, she walked over to the table and sat it on the ground. "...lot of cups," Kevin was saying.

"I hope it doesn't get windy," Kristy said.

Kevin drew a heavy sigh and nodded. "I would not be happy if it did."

Kristy laughed, more at his cute expression than because what he said was funny, and Nikki looked around for Lincoln, but didn't see him. She last saw him about an hour ago carrying a table, and they smiled at each other in passing. She was thinking of seeing if they could sneak away later for a little alone time, but wasn't sure if they'd be able to.

It occurred to her, not for the first time, that she only had two days left before they would be forced apart again, and her chest crushed in a vise of loss. She didn't know how long she'd have to wait before she could see him again, and that filled her stomach with foreboding. She didn't regret loving him, but she did regret loving a boy who lived so far away, if that makes sense. Of all the dudes to fall for, it had to be one from practically the other side of forever.

Gay.

But that's how it goes. You can't choose who you fall in love with. It just happens, like a heart attack, one of those things beyond change or control. While it kinda sucked as far as distance went, she was actually really lucky. Some girls have the distinct misfortune to fall hopelessly in love with dirtbags like Chandler, or with guys who don't love them back, but she fell in love with Lincoln, and though he wasn't perfect, he was still pretty righteous. Cute, smart, kind - she could have done a whole lot worse.

After leaving Kevin, she and Kristy went back to the storeroom and carried over a few more boxes. By then, it was past noon, and the field was filling with people. Music played from pole mounted speakers positioned at evenly spaced intervals, the smell of sizzling hotdogs and hamburgers filled the air, kids played ring toss and whack-a-mole, and a clown walked up and down the fairway, twisting balloons into animal shapes, honking his nose, and making a general nuisance of himself. Dino sat before his table in a metal folding chair and Julie sat across from him in another, her face turned to one side. Dino leaned over and carefully drew a sunflower on her cheek with a special marker. A ghetto blaster sitting on the table pumped old school hip hop.

_Now you know just who I am_

_And what I do because I'm in demand,_

_Because I look good._

_Do you hear, my man?_

_And if you can't take that, you chump your old hand._

_One girl at a time get an MC_

_So how could you think that you rank with me? _

Julie twitched, and Dino glowered. "Girl, Imma poke yo eye out you keep movin'."

She let out a nasty sigh and shook her head. The pencil slipped and scratched a squiggly white line toward the corner of her left eye. Dino sat back and glared at her. "I said stay yo ass still. This ain't no joke, you gon' mess me up and mess yo'self up too. You wanna wear a eyepatch? Look like Slick Rick?"

"No," Julie said nastily.

"Stop movin' then. You can go back to actin' like yo shit don't stink when I'm done. 'Ight?"

Julie's face darkened but she didn't reply.

"Yeah, keep yo mouth shut, thinkin' you all that and a bag of chips. Girl, I seen yo type a million times. You gon' get knocked up when yo' eighteen by some lil boy you met a party, he gon' leave yo ass when he find out, and you gon' stay talkin' 'bout how good you was in school cuz that's the last time yo uppity little ass was eva happy. These streets is mean, homegirl, you best recognize."

Nikki laughed as she passed, and Julie shot her a dirty look. Flashing, Dino grabbed Julie's chin and forced her to turn her head. Her lips smooshed together and her eyes widened in alarm. "You ain't gon' listen, is you? We gon' have to do this the hard way, huh?"

Grumbling under his breath, he went back to work.

_And plus you're cheap, you're petty, your music is trash._

_You need to go to the bank and get some cash_

_Because talkin' don't pay, you're driftin' away._

_When I see you on the stage, I'm-a blow you away._

_You're right._

_There is no diff between me and you_

_Except I look good and you look through._

Nikki found Angela sitting at a table between two booths; she leaned over her guitar and picked at the strings, producing a high, melodic sound. Nikki sat the box down, then waited. When she didn't acknowledge her, she cleared her throat. Angela looked up and donned a sunny smile. "Yes?"

"I think that's everything."

Angela went back to playing her guitar, her eyes focused on her fingers. "Okay then."

"That's all?" Nikki asked after a moment.

Looking back up, Angela considered, then nodded. "Yep. That's it. Go have fun."

Oh.

Cool.

Side-stepping the box, Nikki went off in search of Lincoln. A line of kids stood in front of a food truck with pictures of hotdogs and hamburgers on the side, and the scent made Nikki's stomach growl. She was too busy working to stop for breakfast, and now she realized how hungry she was.

Eh, she'd wait for Lincoln. They could get something together, then either play a game or steal off for some alone time.

She was almost to the end of the fairway when someone called her name. She turned, and a girl she didn't know but vaguely recognized hurried after her. Short with a muffin top and pale red hair streaming behind, she panted for air and waved one arm to get Nikki's attention. Nikki stopped and waited.

"You're Nikki, right?" the girl huffed.

"Yeah," Nikki said guardedly, "what's up?"

The girl thrust out a folded sheet of paper. "This...is...from Lincoln," she wheezed.

Lincoln?

Nikki stared at it for a moment, then reached out and tentatively took it. She unfolded it and read.

_Meet me on Trale B. I want 2 see you._

Misspelling? Number in place of a word? Yep, that was Lincoln alright. Why didn't he just come to her directly, though?

"Lincoln gave this to you?" she asked incredulously.

The girl nodded. "Yeah, he said something about a surprise."

Oh. Well, that made sense, she guessed. "Okay," she said and tucked the note into her pocket, "thanks."

"No problem."

Nikki turned around and started in the direction of Trail B, which wound through the forest for a mile before filtering out on a wide, sandy beach fronting the lake. Angela lead the girls on a hike there a few times; thick vegetation surrounded it on three sides, forming a natural cove and hiding it from view, thus making it the perfect place for a boy and girl to do things to each other...sexy things.

Smiling to herself, Nikki went off to meet her fate.

* * *

In the days leading up to the festivities, Kevin assigned everyone in Cabin 3A a special task. Rachaud and Sherman were put on trash duty and would spend the majority of Saturday and Sunday patrolling the fairgrounds for litter and emptying strategically placed trash barrels as needed. Thad was charged with assisting Kevin with setting up tables. And Lincoln...well, Lincoln was given either the easiest job or the most difficult: Checking permits.

Each outside vendor was issued both a permit by the state and a special day pass by the camp. Someone had to stand at the entrance and physically confirm that everyone who came onto the property had all the required paperwork, and that someone was Lincoln.

Since the first vendors were set to arrive before 7am, Lincoln's day started just before 6am. By 6:30, he was in position, leaning against the weather stained CAMP ROLLING HILLS arch with a vest over his shirt, a clipboard in his hand, and a walkie talkie clipped to his shorts. The early morning chill raked his bare arms and legs with goosebumps, and the sounds of small animals moving in the brush put his nerves on edge. During yesterday's fire, the high, lonesome shriek of a bobcat rose in the night, so much like the sickly wail of a dying baby it turned his blood to ice, and the more he listened to the snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves, the more certain he became that it would come rushing out of the undergrowth like a shiny-eyed demon, all fangs, claws, and primal hunger.

He'd never seen one before, not even in pictures, so he had no idea what they looked like, but he imagined them being big and sleek, like a cross between a bear and a cheetah. Would it kill him outright, or would it toy with him first? Swat him? Scratch him? Scrape its teeth back and forth across his flesh and peel away strips like Spongebob with that chocolate bar?

Something crashed through the foliage, and he jumped, then forced a nervous laugh. Chill, Linc, jeez.

Easier said than done, but okay.

The first vendor to arrive was Jimmy Frinks of USA Food Trucks, INC, driving a Winnebago converted into a mobile kitchen. He approached in a cloud of dust, shadows flickering across his chrome grill, and slowed to a stop. A big, toothless redneck in a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his hairy forearms, Jimmy sat behind the wheel with one arm jutting out the open window. Lincoln went around to the driver side, asked for his permits, and glanced them over. He handed them back with a thanks, then stepped aside and let him pass. He found USA FOOD TRUCKS, INC on the clipboard and crossed it off.

Five minutes later, a black panel van with GO DJ scrawled across the side in white appeared. A black man in a red T-shirt and black knit cap leaned out the window and handed Lincoln his permits. Finding everything in order, Lincoln gave them back and crossed his name off the list.

This process repeated five times before it hit a snag. Lincoln was standing against one of the arch posts when a battered 1989 Neon came down the road. It stopped, and he went to the driver side window, faltering when he saw what was inside.

Lincoln wasn't afraid of clowns, per se, but they made him uneasy, and the one staring back at him was all the more disquieting because he looked like he just didn't care. A tall, thin man with white make-up sloppily applied to his face, blue around his lips, a big red nose, and bushy purple hair on either side of a massive bald spot, he wore an oversized blazer, a yellow tie with purple polka dots, and a tired expression. A cigarette smoldered in his mouth, and _Nothin' But a Good Time _by Poison whispered from the speakers as if to sardonically comment on its sole listener: Topsy the Clown looked like he was having anything _but _a good time.

Swallowing, Lincoln went up to the window, and when Topsy turned his bleary, shoot-me-now eyes upon him, he looked quickly at the clipboard. "Uh...can I see your permits, please?"

Without a word, Topsy bent over the steering wheel and took out his wallet. He opened it, rummaged through, then tossed it onto the passenger seat. He leaned over, opened the glovebox, and pulled out a confusion of napkins, road maps, and other assorted junk that he spread across his lap and slowly and methodically searched. He paused once to light a new cigarette, then went back to it, muttering curses to himself every time he picked something up that wasn't what he needed.

Five fruitless minutes passed, and finally he flopped his head back and looked at Lincoln nonchalantly. "I don't have 'em," he said thickly, "I think I forgot 'em in my other pants."

Lincoln's stomach knotted.

This probably wasn't going to be pretty.

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't let you on the grounds," he said, reciting the line Kevin gave him exactly.

Topsy sighed. "Seriously? Look, I have my ID right here." He picked up his wallet and whipped out his drivers' license.

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't let you onto the property without your permits."

"I don't _have _the goddamn permits," Topsy snapped and gestured wildly, "I just told you this."

Lincoln's heart was racing. "I understand that, but I can't let you pass. Everyone has to have their permits."

The clown's face hardened. "Listen, kid, I come to this stupid field day every single year. They know me, call your boss, tell him Topsy's here."

He couldn't do that. His standing orders were to turn away anyone who didn't have the proper documentation. He said as much, and Topsy swiped the back of his hand savagely across his nose. "I came all the way from Detroit, I'm not leaving without my money."

Lincoln was starting to lose his patience. "Dude, I'm sorry, but you have to have you stuff. You don't have your stuff so you can't come in."

Clamping his cigarette between his lips, Topsy lifted his butt from the seat and dug through his pocket. "Alright, you want my permit?" he said. He ripped his hand out and held up his middle finger. "There's my goddamn permit." He grabbed the wheel, hit the gas, and rocketed through the archway, his tires kicking up a spray of dirt and gravel.

Hanging his head in defeat, Lincoln unclipped the walkie talkie, held it up, and pressed the TALK button. "Kevin?"

Static hissed.

"Yeah, Linc, what's up?"

He explained what happened, and Kevin chuckled. "Yeah, he's a drunk, he does this every year, it's fine."

Even though he said that, Lincoln felt kind of like a failure for letting him get through, then snapped out of it. What did he care? He just wanted this over so he could track Nikki down and hang out with her...one way or another. They only had two days before camp was over and they'd have to separate again. He was _not _looking forward to it, and was considering stowing away on Nikki's bus. She could keep him in her closet and feed him scraps, just so long as she took him for walks and scratched his belly every now and then.

He could see it now: Sleeping on pee soaked newspaper, drinking water from a dish, pawing at the door and whimpering while Nikki was at school, begging to be let out and played with.

Ahhh, that's the life.

But no, really, he wished he could be closer to her. Long distance relationships stank; you could hear the girl you loved, you could even see her in real time on Skype, but you couldn't hold her, and when she was sad because she felt the same way, you couldn't wipe her tears away and kiss her lips. It was miserable and the more he did it, the more he hated it. One of them needed to move, and since Mom and Dad had been paying a sky high mortgage on the Franklin Avenue house for sixteen plus years, it probably wasn't going to be him.

The final vendor showed up just before noon, and after Lincoln waved him through and drew a line through his name, he radioed Kevin for further instructions, hoping he didn't have anything else for him to do. He was disappointed when Kevin sent him off to the storeroom to help another boy carry tables out to the field, but he got to see Nikki going in the other direction, so it wasn't a total loss.

Done with that, he helped run extension cords from a generator by the infirmary to the fairgrounds. By the time he was finished, his knees were stained green with grass, his arms quivered in exhaustion, and warm, slimy sweat slathered his body. The lake, sparkling gem-like in the light of the sun, had never looked better, and he was considering asking Kevin if he could take a dip. Either that or just do it. Everyone was too preoccupied elsewhere to worry about one kid going ghost for a while.

Which, if he remembered correctly, was how that Jason guy died. He was swimming, the councilors weren't watching, and...uhhh..somehow he drowned. When you really sat down and thought about it, him coming back from the dead and killing everyone was kind of petty. Like...c'mon, you knew the risks involved, you got no one to blame but yourself, bud. Put the machete down and take a little responsibility for your actions. If I drown, I'm gonna stay dead cuz I deserve it.

Actually, he'd probably come back for Nikki, but he'd be all dead and messed up, so he doubted she would want him. Could you blame her, though? He probably wouldn't want her either if she came through the door rotting and bloated from being in the water for three weeks. _Hey, White Hair, come give mama some sugar. _

Uhhh...no.

Before he did anything, though, he needed a drink; his throat was parched and if he didn't wet it soon, it would turn to dust and choke him to death. He started toward the dining hall with his hands in his pockets. A group of girls passed heading in the direction of the fairgrounds. One saw him, broke from the pack, and hurried over. Lincoln dug his heels in and prepared himself for battle; there was only one reason for someone to come up on you like that, and it was to throw them hands, as Nikki would say.

She stopped in front of him, a short, chubby girl with red hair, and proudly presented him with a folded sheet of paper. "This is from Nikki," she said.

Oh.

Okay.

He took it, opened it, and scanned the page.

_Yo, meet me at the cove_ followed by a suggestive winky face.

Welp, I know what I'm doing with _my _day.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied. She spun on her heels and hurried to catch up with her friends. Lincoln shoved the note into his pocket and set a course for the cove. On the way, he stopped in at the dining hall and went through a set of doors into the kitchen. He walked to the sink, but caught a flash of red in the corner of his eye and turned. 12 packs of Coca-Cola were stalked on a prep table like building blocks, and Lincoln's pupils dilated like a drunk sighting a bottle of rum. He loved soda and going without it for so long wasn't easy, but deciding to take a couple sure was. He glanced around, saw that he was alone, and grabbed a couple cans from the open box on top.

Outside, he took a right and walked through camp toward the forest; the sounds of laughter and merriment echoed between the buildings, and nothing moved, not even the trees. He met no one on the way to the trail, but looked over his shoulder periodically to make certain he wasn't being observed.

The woods surrounding Camp Rolling Hills were crisscrossed by trails and walking paths, some rounding the lake and others meandering inland before petering out. Trail B veered north, away from camp, then east, where it let out on a sandy beach enclosed on three sides by dense underbrush. It was situated less than two miles from the campus, but standing on the shoreline, you could almost believe you were hundreds of miles from civilization.

At the trailhead, Lincoln glanced over his shoulder one more time, then went into the forest. Trees pressed close to either side, their branches still in the airless day. Sunlight fell through the boughs in narrow slats and painted the ground like streaks of gold. The low, chirping whine of cicadas found his ears, and bugs danced mockingly around him like motes of dust. The trail curved off to the right and dipped into a thickly wooded holler. A stagnant bog opened up on the right and left and flashes of the lake were visible through the trees, its surface glinting in the sun.

The land rose sharply, and Lincoln bent slightly at the waist as he soldiered up the grade. At the top, he stopped to rest against the gnarled trunk of a massive oak tree. A faint breeze slipped through the woods and stirred the leaves with a quiet rustle. If he listened closely, he could just make out the sounds of music and laughter in the field. He dragged the back of his hand across his slick forehead and took a deep breath. His shirt stuck to his torso and his shorts rode up his butt crack like a horny teenage boy desperately trying to convince his girlfriend to smash. _I'll be real gentle, Peggy Sue, I promise, Scout's honor. _

A vision came unbidden. Him and Nikki as teenagers in the fifties, him in a leather jacket and her in a poodle skirt. They were necking in the back a car so big it had its own zip code; Elvis or something played on the radio and the moonlight shone on Nikki's chest when he slipped her blouse off. Was it strange that the idea of two repressed teens in the days of golly-gee-willikers giving into their carnal desire and ripping each other apart in the rear of '57 Chevy gave him a boner?

Eh, couldn't be stranger than that time he read a _Little House on the Prairie _book then imagined Cristina in a bonnet and nothing else. _Hark, Linc, come and know thine body_. In his fantasy, they did it on a straw bed next to a next a roaring fireplace, then, afterwards, Indians attacked and he fought them off with his trusty Winchester.

Jesus, I'm a weirdo.

Perhaps, but he had an awesome girlfriend who was attractive, fun to be around, and, beneath her hard bitten urban exterior, sweet and caring. As long as she was okay with his off-the-wall-itude, then so was he.

Love is liberating, isn't it?

He cracked one of Cokes and took a long, grateful drink; it splashed down the back of his throat, cold as ice and sweet and honey, and he moaned in delight. Man, he missed this. Mom and Dad bought Sam's Cola because it was cheap, and while he'd chug one after another if they let him, he preferred Coke and Pepsi.

Whenever there was soda in the house, he and his sisters inevitably fought over the last one like nations over the final barrel of crude. He used to save one for himself and hide it in the back of the fridge, but Lori figured him out, and the last time he did it, she swiped it out from under his nose.

Yeah, he and his sisters fought over everything, but you know what? He actually really missed them, his parents too. He wasn't too happy about leaving Nikki, but he was kind of looking forward to going home.

Maybe he could convince her to come with. Hey, he had fifty sisters, he doubted anyone would notice an extra blonde hanging around. _Psst, Lincy? Like, which sister is _that?

_Oh, that's, uh, Loah. Don't tell me you forgot, Leni. You used to change her diapers._

_Okay, I totes remember now. _

He finished off the soda, crumpled the can and tossed it into the forest. He pushed away from the tree and started walking up the path again. The cove was still about a mile off and his legs were starting to cramp. When he got there, the first thing he was going to do was go for a swim. If Nikki was game, they could skinny dip. He'd never seen water glistening on her bare breasts, but something told him it would be a beautiful sight.

The trail rose over a hill and wound down the other side. The forest was at its densest here, the sunlight barely penetrating through. Shadows rushed over him, and the temperature dipped a good five degrees.

A bush rustled on his right, and his heart skipped a beat. He went to turn, and something smashed hard onto the top of his skull. Blinding white light, like the flash of an atom bomb, filled the world, and the sodas dropped from his hands. He fell forward and hit the ground face first, consciousness rapidly fading.

The last thing he knew before he sank into the void was the wild, animistic sound of heavy breathing.


	7. Trail of Terror

**Guest: I will post an announcement on that story sometime in the near future. **

**STR2D3PO: Not until after the **_**Nasty Girls **_**sequel. At least.**

Fire.

Fire hotter than any the boy had ever known blazed in the center of his being. He tried to flee from it, but like a mad beast, it followed, burning his every never ending and setting his every molecule aflame. He winced and whimpered pitiably in the back of his throat.

Darkness held sway over him, and in it, he sensed creatures lurking, slime slathered abominations with fangs, claws, and boring red eyes. The cry of a carrion bird echoed through the chambers of the night, and a hot furnace wind blew against him, bringing with it the fetid reek of rotting earth. His nose crinkled and the black before his vision began to lighten like the morning sky. The pain in his middle swelled, growing in intensity, and a broken moan issued from his chapped lips.

Gradually, Lincoln came up from the depths of unconsciousness like a diver from the bottom of a dark and forbidding sea. His head throbbed sickly, pounding with every staggering beat of his heart, and his stomach writhed like a nest of eels. His ears rang, and the tinkle wormed its way into his brain like steely fingers scratching at soft gray matter.

He stirred, and something rough scraped his left cheek. He attempted to open his eyes, but they were gummed shut. He tried to turn his head, and stiffness flared in the back of his neck. He went to rub it, but his hands refused to obey his command. He tried again, and thick fabric bit into his wrists. His forehead wrinkled in confusion and he swallowed around a lump in his throat.

What happened?

He struggled to remember, but couldn't: The last thing he recalled was standing against a tree and drinking Coca-Cola. His skull pulsed with agony and he grimaced; thinking hurt, breathing hurt, simply existing hurt. He sought the warm embrace of sleep, but it would not come, and after a few seconds that felt like hours, he pried his eyelids open. Sunlight stung his grainy orbs, and the torment in his head reached an apocalyptic crescendo. He let out a thick, strangled groan, closed them again, and fought to draw air into his aching lungs.

For a time, he stayed that way, then creaked his eyes open again, giving them time to adjust to the light. He stood against the trunk of a tree, arms thrown around and hands bound at the wrists.

He gaped, trying to process what he was seeing, then gasped when someone spoke behind him.

"Hey, there, sleepyhead," Chandler said.

Lincoln's blood ran cold. He tugged frantically at the rope, but it was too tight. He dug his feet into the soft dirt, and realized for the first time that he was naked save for his underwear. Chandler came around to his right, and he instinctively pulled away like a cringing dog. The older boy beamed, his smile too wide, too full of teeth. Lincoln's gaze went to the long, riding crop like stick in his hand, and his heart punched fearfully against his ribs. Chandler followed his eyes, and the corners of his mouth turned up even more, lending him mad air. "You think you're hot stuff, huh?" he asked. He walked slowly around the tree in a tight U, looking for all the world like an evil villain preparing to reveal his master plan to the shackled hero, and Lincoln tracked his movements, his knees beginning to knock. Animal fright gripped his chest and his fevered brain tried fruitlessly to formulate coherent thoughts. "Mr. I-Won't-Share-My-Girlfriend." Chandler stopped and regarded Lincoln with genuine befuddlement. "How did you get a girl to like you? You're scrawny, wimpy, and a geek. I don't get it."

His words went in one of Lincoln's ears, ricocheted, missed his brain, and came out the other side. He knew what he was saying, but it didn't make sense, and in his state, he couldn't compute it.

With a sad shake of the head, Chandler disappeared behind him, and Lincoln's spine tingled. A split second later, the stick whacked hard across the backs of his legs. Excruciating pain shot through him, and he uttered a high, piercing cry. It came again, cleaving the air with an ominous whistle, and Lincoln's knees gave out; he fell, and the rope pulled tight, his muscles stretching. He got his feet under him, tears streaming down his gritty face, and Chandler giggled like a sadistic child. The stick lashed across Lincoln's butt, and screaming unashamedly, Lincoln arched his back.

"That's okay, though," Chandler said. He grabbed Lincoln's cowlick and yanked his head roughly back. Seen upside down and through a sheen of tears, Chandler's face was a study in loathing. His dark eyes glimmered with unholy light and his inverted smile yawned like the maw of a man eating beast seconds from tearing out its prey's throat. He leaned in until their noses touched, and Lincoln's breath caught. "I'm gonna make things right." He released Lincoln's hair and disappeared again.

Lincoln still didn't know what exactly was going on, but he did know this: Chandler was crazy and he was probably going to kill him.

His stomach crept into his throat and he started to hyperventilate. Leaves crunched off to his left, and he twisted his head jerkily around to see. Chandler knelt and rummaged through a green L.L. Bean knapsack. He found what he was looking for and stood, a paint brush in one hand and a plastic squeeze bottle filled with amber liquid in the other. Two innocuous items that sent shivers down Lincoln's back. "Does she call you honey, Loud?" Chandler asked. He snapped the lid open, pointed the container at Lincoln's back, and squirted; cold, gunky fluid ran down his flesh in fat, glacial drops, and Lincoln shuddered.

Using the brush, Chandler smeared it over his shoulder blades and down to the waistband of his undies.

Finally finding his voice, as small and weak as it may have been, Lincoln said, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because," Chandler said and knelt, the brush tickling the back of Lincoln's left leg, "screw you, that's why." He tittered and got to his feet. He squirted more on Lincoln's shoulder, and stroked the brush down Lincoln's right arm. The smell wafted to his nose, sweet and smooth.

Honey.

"I-I didn't do anything to you," he said with a wounded hilt.

"Yes you did," Chandler said. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, then let the brush and bottle drop to the forest floor. "So did your little girlfriend. And just like you, she's gonna get hers."

Lincoln's chest constricted.

Nikki.

Chandler ducked behind him once more, and Lincoln's heart leapt into his throat. "Don't hurt her," he trembled. There was no force to his voice, only beseeching. "Please don't hurt Nikki, please." Fresh tears ruptured from his eyes and his lips quivered at the prospect of Chandler doing something to Nikki. Gritting his teeth, he pulled at the rope, intent on getting out and stopping him somehow, but the stick snapped across his back and he wailed.

"Tit for tat, Loud," Chandler said. Leaves rustled as he walked away, and Lincoln looked over his shoulder: He stopped at a spreading oak tree. A round, grayish mass dangled from one of the low branches, and drawing the stick back, Chandler struck it so hard it fell and cracked open on the ground.

When Lincoln heard the low, angry buzz, he understood.

And his stomach clutched.

"Hope you're not allergic to bee stings," Chandler said, then nodded his head to one side in concession, "actually, I do."

He threw the stick aside and walked away.

"Wait!" Lincoln cried. "Wait, please, stop! STOP!"

Chandler was already in the forest, flashes of his departing back visible through the trees.

"COME BACK!"

A bee landed on Lincoln's back, and he froze. Another alighted on his shoulder, and another still set down on his butt. He sucked deep, even breaths through his nostrils and wracked his brain for what to do. He needed to get out and stop Chandler, but if he moved, the bees would sting him. He pictured a thousand tiny barbs jabbing into his flesh like knives, injecting him with poison, not enough to hurt him when it was one or five or even ten...only there wouldn't be one or five or ten, there would be thirty, seventy, a hundred, swarming his naked skin, stabbing him, biting him, _killing _him.

He swallowed thickly. A vision of Nikki lying hurt on the ground, bloodied and bruised, shaking in terror and screaming for him, danced mockingly through his head, and his soul withered.

In an instant, he made his decision. Gritting his teeth and steeling himself for what was to come, he jerked back as hard as he could. The rope abraded his skin, and like dominoes falling one-by-one, the bees began to sting…

* * *

Nikki reached the cove forty-five minutes after setting out. A beaten footpath branched off from the main trail and lead through heavy vegetation before letting out on the beach. Soft, yellow sand stretched down to the water's edge and tall trees shielded either side. The island sat off to the right, and on the other shore, unbroken pines towered into the humid hazed sky. A circle of charred driftwood from a past fire lay on the sand like old bones, and Nikki crossed to it and sat on a rock jutting from the ground. She was flushed, sweaty, and winded from the walk, and took a moment to catch her breath.

A city kid who was kinda too poor to afford a new bike after she outgrew the last one (please don't tell anyone), Nikki was used to walking...but only on flat surfaces. Detroit had hills here and there, but her stomping grounds were all smooth and even. She could go from one end of the city to the other and be fine, but the moment she got on a hill, she was dead. Her leg muscles burned, her back was tight, and when she moved her knees, they grated like stone-on-stone. She stopped to rest a couple times on the way, and almost gave up; Lincoln would probably stumble across her at some point, did she really did to go all the way to the cove? Did she _really? _

Warm wind sprang up and mussed her damp hair, drying the sweat on her brow. Her bare arms ached, and crossing them on her knees, she studied her red skin. Normally, she escaped sunburn by wearing a hoodie, even in the summer, but Camp Rolling Hills had some kind of hard on against long sleeves so she was pretty much stuck. In the almost two weeks that she had been here, every part of her body that wasn't covered wound up getting baked at least once: Her arms, her legs, her face, the back of her neck, even her scalp.

Dead ass serious, her scalp got burnt. She didn't know how, like, wasn't your hair supposed to protect you from that? That's what hair does, you know, keeps stuff off of you. Last spring in health class, she learned all about the functions and purpose of hair, especially the pubic variety. Yep, that's right, pubes have a reason, my man. What did the book say? They "provide a cushion against friction that can cause skin abrasion and injury and protection from bacteria and other unwanted pathogens." Bet you didn't think I could remember that, huh?

In all fairness, she only did because she was kind of a virgin at the time, and virgins awash in hormones are kind of pervvy. Like, she wasn't begging for some D,but when the topic of sex came up, she sprouted ears all over her body and leaned in to hear better. _Yo, can you repeat that? S-l-o-w-l-y? _She was never obsessed with it or anything, but come on, what teenage girl _isn't _interested in that subject? They might not be loud and proud with it like guys, but seriously, we like it too...just not with anything and everything.

One thing that always fascinated her about sex was what it revealed about the distinct biological construct of men and women. Men evolved as hunters and acted as such in the arena of dating and sex, and women developed as nurturers. A man's primary goal - on an instinctive level - was to spread his seed, and a woman's was to tend it. Basically, men are less selective because all they're about is getting it planted, but women are _more _selective cuz they have to worry about the harvest. They say women are attracted to assholes, and it's true, they kind of are, but only because assholes, the ones who barrel through life knocking people out of the way and always get what they want, make good partners...on paper, at least.

They're like alpha males, you know? And most women are drawn to them because alphas are on top and can, because of their dominant nature, provide better for their offspring.

Then you got your betas, and who wants one of those? They subsist on the scraps left behind by alphas, which means their young will have to scrounge too. The female realizes this, even if only subconsciously, and avoids the beta.

If you really sit down and think about it, almost everything we do on a foundational level has one sole purpose.

To cultivate life.

Mankind is like a self-feeding fire, and the meaning of life was probably to keep that fire going.

Or maybe not. Who knows? Right now, the meaning of Nikki's life was to see her boo then probably go swimming.

She rubbed her elbows and looked toward the path. Where was he, anyway? He told her to meet him here, so she assumed she'd find him waiting. Was he running late? Tsk, tsk, tsk, that's pretty rude, ice cap, if you tell someone to meet you somewhere, you gotta get there first. It's, like, the golden rule.

The breeze picked up, and with it came the distant sounds of field day delight: Laughter, music, and the high, electronic dings of carnival games.

Tomorrow was the final day before camp adjourned, and she had to admit: She kind of had a good time. When her mom first brought up the idea of packing her off to camp, she thought it was going to suck, but it didn't, even with all the bugs and sunburn. She got to do all sorts of stuff she wouldn't have done otherwise (like tip a canoe), which, upon reflection, was pretty cool.

Plus, she got to see Lincoln every single day, even if only in passing.

All in all, it was a good summer.

Better than last summer. She had to go to school for most of it. Math, her biggest stumbling block. She did good in everything else, but as soon as she sat down to do some fractions, she turned into Patrick. _Uhhh...24? _It was ironic how the most logical of all subjects, the one with discernible patterns and rigid lines of reasoning that you could follow all day long once you picked them up, was the one that she just couldn't grasp. English wasn't the easiest either - there were so many terms to keep straight: Verb, noun, genaud, adjective, compound fracture.

Wait, that last one was a medical term, nvm. She got one of those when she wrecked her bike once; her bone was sticking out and everything, it was really gross. The worst part was the doctor touching it. Like, your bone wasn't meant to be prodded and poked by human fingers. It didn't hurt, it was just weird.

Something moved in the woods, and she perked up. A moment later, someone stepped into the cove, only it wasn't Lincoln.

It was Chandler.

Nikki's eyes narrowed.

What was _he _doing here?

He stopped at the head of the path and put his hands proudly on his hips, a dark smile carving his face. "Hey," he said.

Nikki glared at him. Last week, while she was on her way to hide from the sack race, Chandler grabbed her ass, and she slapped the piss out of him. She'd barely seen him since, and when she did, he looked everywhere but at her, as though he were afraid of incurring her wrath again. She didn't tell Lincoln - or anyone else - about what happened because, to be honest, she was a little ashamed, even though she didn't do anything wrong.

She thought - and hoped - he would leave her alone after that, but apparently not. "What do _you _want?" she asked venomously.

Strolling forward with a predatory flourish that gave her pause, Chandler shrugged one shoulder. "Loud sent me."

Nikki snorted. "Yeah?"

"Yep," Chandler said. "We made a deal."

He approached, and Nikki faltered. She jumped to her feet and fell back a step, abruptly afraid. There was a look in his eyes that she didn't like, a sort of harried mistiness that bespoke the clouded thinking of a madman. "What deal?" she reflexively asked.

Chandler stopped, crossed his arms, and ran his eyes up and down her body. She could feel, _feel_, him mentally undressing her, and her skin crawled.

"Well, I was talking to my good friend Lincoln about you the other day," he said, his tone dripping with mocking malice. He began to pace back and forth like a shark circling an injured swimmer, and Nikki swallowed. "And I told him he was a lucky guy. Having a girl like you while I'm all alone." He spread his hands, and his smug grin sharpened. "Being the bro he is, he made me an offer, and far be it from me to turn down a friend."

Nikki's hands balled into defensive fists and her eyes darted back and forth between Chandler and the trailhead. He was shorter than her, but muscular, his arms and legs both powerful and well-defined.

"He said...gee, Chandler, why don't we share?" he licked his lips and flicked his eyes up her bare legs. Nikki's heart beat hard against her ribs and her body tensed. She could tell where this was going.

Chandler faced her full on and stared pointedly at her chest. She resisted the urge to fold her arms and deny him the view. "He didn't say that," Nikki said with absolute certainty. Her eyes went to the trail again. It was fifteen feet away, maybe twenty. In order to get there, she'd have to go past Chandler. It was either that or go in the water, and she wasn't a strong enough swimmer for that.

Plus, on land, she could fight back.

"Sure he did," Chandler countered. "He said, and I quote, mi puta es su puta."

All at once, Nikki sprang to Chandler's left, but he was fast; he grabbed her arm and wrenched it back. Pain exploded in her shoulder and a cry erupted from her lips. Balling her fist, she swung it around, and it connected with the side of Chandler's head. He let out a breathless _umph, _and his grip loosened. She pulled away and threw herself at the trail.

"FUCKING BITCH!" Chandler roared.

She reached the path and crashed headlong down the lane, her arms and legs pumping furiously and ragged breaths blasting from her throat. She looked over her shoulder and screamed: Chandler was coming up fast, his face a twisted mask of hatred and his eyes narrowed to slits. She whipped her head around and went faster.

* * *

Lincoln squeezed his eyes closed, pressed his wrists together, and rubbed. The rope dug painfully into his flesh and the friction of skin sliding quickly back and forth on skin like kindling brought new tears to his eyes. Bees crawled over his back and jabbed their stingers into him like knives, each one making him cringe. Their monotonous drone filled the world until he could hear nothing else; not the far off festival, not the wind, not even his own whimpering. Fire snaked up his arms and added to the inferno in his skull, but he didn't stop or even slow; his only thought was Nikki. Chandler was going to do something to her and he needed to get out to stop him. If he balked now, whatever happened to her would be his fault, and he could never live with himself knowing he stood by while someone hurt her.

He hadn't known her very long, but he loved her. He loved her the way he loved his own sisters, loved her even more. Her smile and her voice, the mischievous twinkle in her eye and her playfulness - he loved everything about her and though grown-ups might say he was being premature, he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. In two short months, he'd come to need her the way flowers need sunlight. Her laugh was his water and her kiss his happiness. She was everything to him and he was so fucking scared right now he could hardly think, could only rub his wrists and tug blindly at his bindings, frantic curses falling from his lips.

A bee crawled into the crook of his neck, and he unthinkingly snapped his head to the side, crushing it, but not before it plunged its barb into him. More scurried around to his chest and three, five, or ten danced around his head, landing here and there, getting tangled in his hair, and panickedly stinging. He blocked that out, along with the agony in his wrists, and increased his speed; his flesh was burning, chafing, whitish flecks shaving off and blood seeping from the wounds. A bee dropped from his cowlick and landed on his nose; before he could steel himself, it stung him, and hot pain enveloped his face. He moaned through his teeth and flopped his head from side to side in an attempt to shake it off. It held fast and picked its way across his cheek, its feelers brushing his skin.

How long ago did Chandler leave? It couldn't have been more than five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. He pictured Nikki hurt and bleeding, and with a growl of frustration, he rubbed faster, ignoring the pain and the wet, sticky blood coursing down his arms. If he bled a little more, maybe he could grease the rope and slip out.

Another bee stung his butt, and another his side, pinpricks of sensation muted beneath his tightening resolve. Stepping back as far as he could, he curled his hands and slowly, deliberately, raked his wrists up the rough bark, then down. Flesh tore, blood spilled, and stingers jabbed. Lightheadedness came over Lincoln like a tempest tossed wave, and his knees buckled. He didn't let himself slack, though, he went faster, crying, hissing, shaking in a mixture of fear and agony. Adrenaline surged through his veins, and he pulled back.

The rope slipped a little, and his heart leapt. He flexed and rolled his wrists, the fibers shredding his even more of his flesh. Blood flowed freely down his forearms and dripped onto the ground like raindrops. He leaned back, braced one bare foot against the trunk, and yanked with all of his might. The rope gave, but not much.

Sweating and panting, soft sobs rising from the back of his throat, he twisted his arms this way and that to loosen the rope even more; his muscles panged and stretched, and the dull throb in his head came roaring back like a semi truck. He clenched his jaw, bore down hard on his teeth, and tried to open his arms in the vague hope of snapping the line. It held, and throwing his head back, he let out a high, exasperated growl that startled birds from the treetops. This was taking too long. If he didn't hurry, he would be too late and Chandler would...he didn't know, God, didn't even want to think about it. He had to get out; each minute could mean the difference between Nikki being okay and Nikki being _not _okay.

Another vision started to form in his mind and a tight band of panic closed around his chest like a vise. He forced it away, took a series of rapid breaths through his nose, and swallowed around a cold lump. If he went to pieces, he wouldn't be any good to Nikki, and right now she needed him to be strong.

A bee stung him between the shoulder blades, and he realized his back was covered, the buzzing loud in his ears. They crawled over his butt, his shoulders, the backs of his legs, sucking the honey up like bums in a soup kitchen. A thousand welts dotted his flesh, each one a mass of tender torture

Suddenly, a sharp scream rent the day, and Lincoln's blood turned to ice water. The world came to a standstill, then shattered like a pane of glass when the scream sounded again. High, kneading, and full of terror.

Nikki.

Turning back to the tree, he pulled violently back, then again, then again. The rope started to slide on his blood slicked skin, and his heart missed a frenetic beat. He summoned all of his strength, then threw himself backwards.

With one final flash of pain, he fell onto his butt. Bees stung here, there, and everywhere like a barrage of gunfire, but he didn't notice, was already on his feet and stumbling toward the path.

* * *

Nikki hit the trail and ducked to the right, her feet barely touching the ground. Hot exhalations fulminated from her lips and a stitch tinged in her side, but she didn't slow; the world flashed by and branches overhanging the path slapped her in the face. Behind her, Chandler pounded after with a satanic sneer. She could hear his feet slapping the dirt like approaching war drums, and the back of her neck prickled.

Ahead, a fallen tree that she didn't remember lay across the lane, and she sprang over it like a pole vaulter over a bar. She came down on the other side, stumbled, and sped up. Was this the right direction? She meant to go back toward camp, but in her disconcerted state, she wasn't sure which way camp even was.

Behind, leaves rustled as Chandler fought his way over the tree. The path curved sharply to the left and ran deeper into the forest, the shadows denser, seeming to absorb and vanquish what little sunlight made it through the trees. A warm wind redolent of rot and ruin washed over her, and the croaking of bullfrogs, seemingly on every side, urged her on. _Go faster, go faster, go faster_.

This wasn't the right way, was it? Instead of going to safety, she was going farther away from it.

She faltered, then pushed herself on. It was too late to change course. Chandler was right behind her and there was no way she could take him in a fight. Did the path eventually loop back to camp? She searched her memory but couldn't recall. She hoped to God it did, because if it came to a dead end, _she _came to a dead end.

Around another bend, the trail was carried over a trickling creek by a weathered wooden bridge, its planks gray and splintered, its wobbly rails covered in decades worth of graffiti. Her feet made hollow thonking noises on the cross boards, and so did Chandler's; from the sound of it, he was bare feet away, perhaps so close he could reach out and snag the back of her shirt.

An involuntary cry shot from her throat and, leaning forward to cut down on wind resistance, she bounded faster still, the wind rushing against her face.

Without warning, Chandler slammed into her and she fell forward, her arms shooting instinctively out and breaking her fall. He grabbed her arm, and she unthinkingly drove her elbow back into his stomach. He let go, and she tried to get to her feet, but he snatched her ankle and dragged her back. Someone screamed, and she was only dimly aware that it was her. She thrashed like a small animal in the clutch of a great beast, her arms and legs flailing. She inadvertently rolled onto her back and lashed madly out with her foot. It connected with the side of Chandler's head, and he toppled to one side.

In an instant, she was on her feet and running again. Chandler howled like a feral dog, pushed himself up, and started after. Camp was ahead, how far she couldn't remember; her mind was muddled, hysterical, screaming at her to keep going, faster, faster, get away. Panting sobs streamed over her shoulders like a banner of fear and tears of exertion stood in her eyes.

The path dipped down, and she wasn't ready; she staggered, and that single missed half-second was enough. Chandler tackled her, and this time she hit the dirt face first. Her jaw clacked, white light burst in her skull, and her brain rattled. Chandler scrambled on top of her and planted his knees on either side of her, pinning her in place. His fist crashed into the back of her head and she screamed into the ground. He did it again and the fight ran out of her, leaving her body cold and limp. He threaded his fingers through her hair and wrenched her head back; the muscles in her next caught fire and shafts of sunlight dazzled her eyes.

"Fucking cunt," Chandler hissed over his teeth. She tried to pull away, and wrapped his forearm around her throat; her air supply cut off, and her heart raced. She wiggled, kicked, and arched her back in a desperate attempt to buck him off. He tightened his grip, and her eyes bugged out from their sockets.

This was it, she realized, she was going to die.

Tears trickled down her face and her lungs expanded and contracted in search of air that would never come. Chandler pressed his cheek to hers, and the rank smell of his breath plunged into her nose. "I'm gonna make you sorry," he panted. The edges of Nikki's vision began to gray and turn fuzzy, and warm oblivion spread across her consciousness. She was sinking rapidly, and her heart jolted. She threw her arm back, felt skin, and scratched. Chandler gasped, then slammed her face against the ground.

She must have passed out for a moment, because the next thing she knew, she was lying flat on her back, her arms outstretched like broken wings. Chandler straddled her, his lips puckered sourly and his eyes flashing with rage. Her mind was slow and groggy, her eyes aching; she understood what was going to happen to her, but she was too numb and dazed to care.

Chandler loomed over her and stared down at her face. His gaze was hollow, vacant, and cold, like that of a dead man; his throat bobbed; his nostrils flared. He reached out, laid his hands on her stomach, and, with a hellish, lopsided smirk, pushed her shirt up, exposing her midriff, the bottom of her ribs, cottony material scraping her skin like the taunting claws of a pitiless cat. Finally, the hem rode up over her bare breasts, and Chandler's breath caught. His tongue flicked out and swiped lecherously along his bottom lip.

He rested his palms on her stomach like a pervert faith healer and made slow, firm circles in her flesh. His breathing was heavy now, labored, and his fingers trembled slightly as though he'd never touched a girl before. Something prodded Nikki's center, and she didn't have to look down to know he was hard.

A shiver dropped down her spine, and she surprised herself by starting to cry.

Chandler's smile widened and he closed his hand around her breasts. She wept harder, completely helpless and at his mercy. He pinched her nipples between his fingers and shifted, his bulge insistently poking her middle. She shook her head back and forth in denial, her hair rustling in the dirt, and thought inexplicably of Lincoln. When he touched her like that, her body burned with desire; but now she was cold. Lincoln was soft, warm, and gentle; Chandler was rough, clammy, and slimy.

Dread ballooned in her stomach, and a sudden surge of energy shot through her. She threw her arms up and went for his eyes. He turned his head, lifted his hand, and brought it down in an arc; it connected with her face her head whipped to one side. Her flesh stung, her ears rang, and her tears came faster.

Rocking back on his knees, Chandler fumbled at his shorts, and Nikki tried to wiggle away. "Be still," he commanded. He pushed them down over his package, and Nikki closed her eyes. Maybe if she pretended it was Lincoln, she could get through this.

Chandler hooked his fingers into her waistband.

He grunted, and all at once, his weight left her. She opened her eyes and winced at the light. Chandler lay on the ground, Lincoln on top of him and raining a flurry of furious blows onto the face. She blinked in confusion at her boyfriend's appearance; clad in only his underwear, face dirty, hair rumpled, body covered in angry red marks and glistening wetly in the sun, his jaw was clenched and his eyes wide with insanity. Chandler held his forearms defensively over his face and did his best to protect himself. Nikki's head spun and her overwrought mind threatened to crumble like an archaic piece of masonry.

Lincoln grabbed Chandler's hair and slammed his fist into his nose; it popped under his knuckles and blood gushed down the front of Chandler's face.

Coming alive, Chandler let out a battle cry, and, in one fluid motion, rolled to the left and threw Lincoln off. Lincoln landed on his side, and before he could react, Chandler was on top of him.

Nikki's shock-frozen brain thawed and her heart, hitherto inert, kicked into overdrive. She tried to sit up, and a wave of dizziness crashed over her. She fluttered her hand to her head and fought back the urge to puke. Lincoln and Chandler rolled back and forth in a cloud of dirt, tearing at each other like two bucks fighting over a summer fawn. Chandler got his knees under him and shoved Lincoln back, but Lincoln sprang at him and knocked him down.

They scuffled for a moment more, then Chandler got the upper hand: He punched Lincoln in the face, then mounted him. He drew his fist back, then brought it down on Lincoln's face. Nikki's heart jumped and, gritting her teeth against the pain in her head, she struggled into a sitting position. Lincoln issued a breaking cry when Chandler hit him again, and the sound - pained, scared, and raw - did something strange.

It made her mad.

She loved Lincoln with all of her heart, had held him naked in her arms, gazed deeply into his eyes, and kissed his lips. To hear him hurting, to _see _him hurting, made her stomach turn. Her eyes locked on the back of Chandler's head like twin cross hairs, and he lips peeled back from her teeth in a rippling snarl. Her fists balled, her body tensed. She tilted forward, trying to get on her knees, and her head swam. She swayed, and despite the righteous fury coursing through her, she lost her balance and fell limply to her side.

_No!_

Chandler wrapped his hands around Lincoln's throat and squeezed. Lincoln writhed and clawed at Chandler's forearms, but the older boy only tightened his grip. "Get off him!" Nikki shouted. She meant it as an order, but it came out as a plea instead.

Lincoln's fighting slowed as he neared unconsciousness, and terror swept Nikki. "Let him go, please!"

Chandler turned to look over his shoulder. Nikki caught a flicker of movement behind him, then something crashed down onto the top of his head in a shower of splintering wood and twanging melody. A spasm went through him, then he fell limply onto Lincoln as if for a conciliatory embrace. Beneath him, Lincoln, face cut, bruised, and bloody, gasped for air.

Lifting her head, Nikki looked up. Angela gripped the severed neck of her guitar, the metal strings dangling like the reaching tentacles of some aquatic nightmare. She looked down at it with a frown, then blew a resigned puff of air from her nose. Her eyes met Nikki's, and her head tilted sternly.

"I told you boys were nothing but trouble," she said.


	8. The Bitter End

The grassy field fronting the forest was alive with activity. Lincoln and Nikki sat on the rear bumper of an ambulance, Lincoln with a wool blanket draped over him like a cape and Nikki with her arm tight around his waist. Her head rested on his shoulder and his hand clasped her knee. Both of Lincoln's wrists were heavily bandaged and a paramedic had rubbed balm over his many bee stings: They counted thirty-eight and told him he was lucky to not have suffered a reaction. Nikki's right ankle was sprained and walking unassisted was hard, but not impossible.

A police car sat across from the ambulance, its red revolving roof lights flashing silently against the trees flanking the trailhead. A cop in a brown uniform lead Chandler out of the woods. The boy's head was down, hands cuffed behind his back; his steps were shaky, and he nearly fell, but the cop held him up.

Nikki watched warily as the cop shoved him in the back and closed the door. Chandler sat with his head down, and Nikki studied him through the windshield, trying to feel hatred for him but failing. She and Lincoln were okay, and that's all that mattered to her.

Angela, Kevin, and the camp director, Mr. Warren, a tall man wearing glasses, conferred in a little group, Angela miming a sick guitar swing in demonstration of her heroics. She laughed and shook her head (_boy, that was sure was swell_). Even now, Nikki could hear the sound the instrument made when it cracked Chandler's head, and something told her she would be hearing it in her sleep for a long time to come.

Lincoln shifted his weight, and Nikki looked up at him. Four ugly knuckle marks splotched his cheek, and looking at them twisted her stomach. "You okay?" she asked for the millionth time.

"I'm fine," he said and offered a tired smile. "You?"

She snuggled up to him and held fiercely on, afraid to let go for even a second. She came very close to losing him today - she intended to cherish every second they had together. "I am now," she replied.

The cop walked over to the counselors and spoke to Mr. Warren, then got in his car and drove off. Chandler did not lift his head as it passed the ambulance, nor did Nikki, for that matter. She took Lincoln's hand, weaved their fingers together, and squeezed. He circled his arm around her shoulders and she laid her other hand on his naked chest. His skin was smooth and warm, like August satin, and she drew his natural scent into her nose, letting it steep and sooth her frayed nerves. Her fingers brushed one of the raised bumps bumps dotting his body, and he winced in pain.

"Sorry," she said quickly.

"It's alright," he said, but from his strained tone, it wasn't. He was riddled with wounds and everything hurt.

Mr. Warren said something to Kevin and Angela, then turned and walked away. In camp, kids and other councilors milled around and watched the proceedings from afar. No one knew exactly what had happened and rumors were already starting to spread. _Angela finally went psycho and killed everyone, _Julie said snottily. _There were bank robbers in the woods and a huge shootout, _a boy told a group of his peers with breathless wonder, _I saw everything. There were dead bodies for DAYS. _When the truth came out - Chandler tried to kill Nikki and Lincoln - Katie turned and glared at Poppa Wheelie. _So that's why you had me pass them notes? _Poppa blinked and started to defend himself, but she slapped him and walked away. _Don't talk to me ever again, creep._

_I didn't know either! _he cried and ran after her. _I swear. _He figured Chandler was up to something, but not trying to kill people. _You gotta believe me! _

Eventually she did, but it took a look of convincing.

And begging.

Back in the field, Kevin and Angela came over and stood in front of Nikki and Lincoln. "How you feel?" Kevin asked Lincoln.

"Fine," Lincoln croaked.

"We called your parents," he said, "and let them know what happened. Do you wanna call them back?"

Ten minutes later, Lincoln and Nikki sat across from each other in an office next to the dining room, Lincoln dressed now in shorts and a T-shirt that scraped his welts with every movement.

The walls were wood paneled and a red throw carpet sat in the middle of the floor. A mounted moose head stared down at them from over a stone fireplace, and Nikki couldn't shake the feeling it was actively seeing them...hating them...wanting to hurt them.

Kevin leaned against the desk, his arms crossed. Angela sat on a threadbare sofa in a cate-corner alcove, bent over her guitar and attempting to tape it back together with Scotch tape. It came apart in her lap and scattered on the floor in front of her. "Darn it," she sighed.

Nikki's eyes darted suspiciously around the room. The danger was past and she and Lincoln were safe. She knew that, but she could still feel it like a dark presence. If she let her guard down, something bad might happen, and this time, she might lose Lincoln for good.

Lincoln held a telephone handset to his ear and talked to his mother. Nikki could hear her voice on the other end of the line; she sounded harried and scared. "I'm okay, Mom," Lincoln said, "really. Just a couple bee stings, that's all." He listened for a minute, then met Nikki's eyes. "I'd rather stay. It's only one more day." He stopped, waited, then said, "Honestly, I'm okay." He listened again. "I love you too."

Next, Nikki called her mom at work, the clatter and din in the background making it hard to hear. Like Lincoln's mom, she sounded worried, and it took a little convincing to get her to let Nikki stay.

By the time they were done, it was dusk, and the other campers were already drifting toward the fire pit. Kevin took Lincoln back to the cabin, and Nikki was alone in the office with Angela, who had finally given up trying to fix her guitar. On their way back to their own cabin through the gathering gloom, the older woman moseyed rather than walked, arms crossed and head down in a thoughtful posture. "You really like white hair boy, don't you?" she asked.

Nikki smiled despite herself. "Yeah," she said, then hesitated. "I...I love him."

"Are you sure about that?" Angela asked.

"Yes," Nikki said instantly. There was no question or doubt in her mind. She loved Lincoln Loud full stop. She knew that maybe she wouldn't always, that maybe, one day, the tide would very well carry them apart. Life is like that. People change over time and young love doesn't always last forever, but right now, in the fading light of the summer sun, Lincoln was her everything, and if she looked ahead into the future, she could only see him.

And that future.

Was perfect.

* * *

Sunday night, Lincoln lay awake in his bunk, one bandaged hand laying on his chest and beads of sweat sliding down his face. A cool breeze blew through the open window, but it barely stirred the heated air; he was flush, fevered, and hot, clad only in his underwear and the blankets tangled at his feet.

Everyone else was asleep, the only sound the soft, even breathing of a dozen boys, and alone with his thoughts, Lincoln went back to the terror he felt the previous afternoon. When Nikki screamed, it was like his world came to a stop, and only started again when Chandler was down. He remembered being on top of the bully, gone in the frenzy of an animal protecting his mate, and that feeling of cold, unutterable rage scared him. Had he been able, he would have killed Chandler, and he wouldn't have felt even the slightest hint of remorse.

He sighed and closed his eyes, seeking sleep but finding dark thoughts instead.

The mattress dipped, and his heart jumped into his throat. He sat up, sure he would find Chandler come to finish what he started, but it was only Nikki, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. Lincoln's brow knitted in confusion, then smoothed when she curled up beside him. He stretched out on his side and took her in his arms; she was soft and warm against him, the shape of her body right. She drew her knees up and laid her palm on his cheek, and he stroked the side of her face with the back of his hand. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied.

"You snuck out."

She simpered mischievously. "I did," she said. Her eyes clouded and she looked down. "Last night. I wanted to be with you."

Lincoln brushed his thumb over her cheek bone, and she met his gaze. The moonlight sparkled in her eyes and Lincoln's stomach fluttered.

They leaned into each other's lips and gently kissed, their tongues skipping and skimming over one another in a slow waltz. Lincoln slipped his hand up her shirt and ran his hand along her side, relishing her silky skin and the dip of her figure. She hooked one leg over his hip and deepened the kiss, giving herself wholly.

He pushed her shorts down her thigh, and she shed her shirt. Her blonde hair grazed her breasts as she crawled on top of him. He arched his back and pulled his shorts down, freeing his erection, and Nikki brought herself down on it; her lips curled around his head and her boiling center drew him deep inside. Lincoln kneaded her breasts, then threaded his fingers through hers as she began to rock, her walls sliding wetly up and down his shaft. Her breathing became heavy, ragged. She pulled her hand away from his, braced her arms on either side of his head, and leaned over him, her hair enshrouding them in their own secret world where love ruled.

Their lips fused, and she went faster, coaxing him closer to their shared end. He swelled, then came with a muffled cry. Sizzling lead pumped into her, and she clawed the sheets, her own orgasm sweeping her into nirvana.

After, they held each other, their legs entwined and their hearts pounding against each other; their noses smooshed, their lips touched, and their hands traveled lazily over each other's body.

The second time was slower, sweeter, and longer, Lincoln on top, then Nikki, their hands never unclasping.

When they were spent, Nikki cuddled against Lincoln, facing away, and he circled his arm around her waist. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too."

"I keep thinking about yesterday," she said with a hint of trepidation. "Like what if -"

"Don't," Lincoln said and kissed the back of her neck. That was easier said than done, he knew; he'd been doing the same thing. "We're alright."

"I love you," she said again.

"I love you too."

They dozed off and on, waking just enough to kiss and touch, as if to confirm to themselves that the other was indeed alright. Toward dawn, Nikki dressed and left, and Lincoln lay on his side, his hand resting on the spot she so recently vacated. It was still warm with her body heat and lingered with her smell, and as he drifted, he imagined she was still with him.

In the morning, following breakfast, all of the kids filed onto their respective buses. At his, Lincoln took Nikki's hands and drew a deep breath. "I'll come down before school starts," he promised.

"I'll come up soon," she said, "I have enough money for a ticket. Or almost."

The last kids climbed on, and it was Lincoln's turn. He pushed up on his tippy toes and kissed her. "I love you," he said.

"I love you too, Lincoln," she vowed, "so much."

Reluctantly letting her go, he got onto the bus, sparing one last look back like Lot's wife at the divine retribution on Sodom. The raw sadness on Nikki's face sank his heart, but her smile, as wan as it may have been, sustained him.

Sitting in the back, he watched Camp Rolling Hills fall away, and with it, his cruel summer with Nikki.

There would be other times, he told himself.

And as fate would have it, there were.

Many, many more.


End file.
